Chapter 12: The Masquerade Ball(3)

The string of events that unfolded in that short period didn’t just feed my swelling gloom; it seemed intent on consuming the very persona I had constructed.

Finally, cracks began to form on the cheerful nun’s mask that I had pressed so firmly onto my face.

“If that’s how others see it, then I suppose it’s true.”

Behind the cracked mask sat the abandoned, false Saint. My whole being was festering, exuding a stench that was impossible to hide no matter how hard I tried.

In the distance, the mansion that had appeared as just a dot on a blank canvas gradually came into view.

“Miss, please step down.”

Butler Brian had already descended from the carriage. Taking his hand, I stepped down onto the ground.

“Welcome back, Lady Licia.”

The familiar sight of the duke’s estate unfolded before me. As soon as I saw the familiar face waiting outside the mansion, the stiffness in my heart melted away like snow.

“Father…!”

I grabbed the hem of my nun’s habit and started running, my steps clumsy like those of a child just learning to walk.

“You didn’t have to come out and wait for me. Your legs must be tired.”

I suppressed the urge to rush into his wide embrace.

“Is your arm alright?”

“As you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”

My father’s large hand rested on top of my head. As my nun’s veil slipped off, my sweat-stained golden hair was exposed.

“Come here. You’ve been through a lot.”

I expected him to simply ruffle my hair as usual, but instead, my father opened his arms wide and pulled me into a tight embrace.

“Yes, Father.”

The warmth that enveloped me so tightly made my eyes sting with tears.

* * *

Fortunately, Father had prepared a dress and mask that wouldn’t draw much attention. I put on a dull, dark wine-colored dress and an old-fashioned mask that looked quite plain.

“Miss, are you really going out like that?”

As I finished getting dressed, the maids, who had been patiently waiting by the vanity, anxiously called out to me.

“You haven’t even done your hair or put on any makeup,” one of them, Marie, said, holding a hairbrush that hadn’t been used in quite some time.

“Is there really a need to go to all that trouble? The mask will cover everything anyway.”

In a curt voice, I replied, causing Marie to drop her head dejectedly.

“…We just wanted to make you look beautiful for once, Miss.”

If I had still been the cold and indifferent daughter of the ducal house, I would have mercilessly turned away and climbed into the carriage. But seeing Marie’s tear-filled eyes made it impossible to ignore her. The sight of her slumped shoulders reminded me of the youngest nun at the Opériale Monastery, who struggled to gain the approval of the older sisters.

“Just something simple, no need to go all out.”

Reluctantly, I sat down at the vanity, and a smile bloomed on Marie’s face.

“You made the right choice. Are you planning to meet Master Jaylon at the masquerade again tonight?”

“…Jaylon?”

Jaylon had mentioned that if I intended to go to the masquerade, I should send him a letter, but I hadn’t had the chance to write one, being caught up in the daily tasks at the monastery.

Feeling the gentle strokes of Marie’s brush, I responded, “We didn’t make any plans to meet, but he’ll probably be there.”

“Oh, didn’t Master Jaylon ask you to meet him at the masquerade?”

“…He did mention something like that, but I didn’t respond.”

Marie’s cheeks turned as rosy as a ripe peach.

“There’s that saying, isn’t there? That only by finding your true love at the finale of the masquerade ball can you claim true love?”

“…Marie, in case you forgot, I’m destined to live my life as a nun. And Jaylon is just a friend. I’ve never thought of him in that way.”

Drawing a firm line, Marie’s pouty lips jutted out in protest.

“But Master Jaylon likely holds different feelings for you, Miss.”

Whatever feelings Jaylon had didn’t concern me. Now wasn’t the time to be entangled in trivial emotions and frivolous matters of love.

“I’ve kept it simple, just as you asked.”

The mirror reflected a plain appearance that didn’t suit a masquerade ball, but it was fitting for a supporting role.

Father came out to see me off all the way to the carriage. His silent, affectionate gaze made me feel emotional all over again.

“I’ll return to the convent as soon as I leave the palace.”

So, who knows when I’ll get to see Father’s face like this again.

“…Alright.”

The time had come to depart. I responded to my father’s curt voice with a bright smile.

“Take care of yourself, always. If anything happens, please make sure to… reach out to the convent…”

As I spoke, a vague memory from the past surfaced. The last farewell I gave my father before being taken to the palace as a Saintess…

‘Father, always stay healthy. If anything happens, please send a letter to the palace. Even in the palace… I will live thinking of you..’

My father had not responded. His usually steadfast gaze had looked unusually vulnerable that day.

“…I’ll come visit often. I promise.”

Instead of empty words, I raised my pinky finger.

“Come on, hook your finger before it gets too embarrassing.”

Then, his thick finger curled around mine. The warmth that wrapped around my finger brought a soft smile to my face.

Like that day, my father didn’t say anything. But a gentle and affectionate smile remained on his lips.

In the carriage heading to the palace, I pressed the dull mask that Father had chosen for me onto my face. By now, the party at the convent must be in full swing.

I decided to have a brief conversation with Abigail at the masquerade ball and then return to the convent immediately. When I get back, I’ll apologize to Father Edwin and have the usual trivial conversations with him.

“…Yes, that’s what I’ll do.”

The image of his sorrowful face when he handed me the leave pass lingered in my mind, leaving a heavy feeling in my chest. His sharp eyes, those stern golden irises, the high bridge of his nose, and those lips that always seemed a bit stern. Even his habit of running his hand through his silver hair when we talked.

As I replayed Father Edwin’s face in my mind, the carriage came to a stop before I knew it.

“I won’t be long.”

Leaving a word with the coachman, I stepped out of the carriage. Around the ballroom, people in masks of every color and design were gathering.

Looking around, I saw the crowd filled with sparkling jewels and faces obscured by elaborate masks adorned with feathers and plumes.

‘Out of all these people, I have to find Abigail. I should have asked her what kind of mask she’d be wearing.’

Holding onto the hem of my dress, I stepped into the ballroom. With everyone’s faces hidden behind their stiff masks, it was impossible to tell who was who. The sound of the orchestra had long been drowned out, replaced by the noise of lively conversations and the clinking of champagne glasses echoing in my ears.

‘Abigail, where are you?’  

I wove through the chaotic crowd, searching desperately for her. Yes, her eyes. If I could just glimpse her eyes through the mask, I would surely recognize her.

Amid the countless masks, I caught sight of a pair of crystal-clear blue eyes. It was definitely Abigail—I was sure of it.

“Abigail…!”

Just as I reached out toward her, someone grabbed my wrist with a firm grip. The blue eyes I had been so desperate to find were already lost in the crowd.

“Aah…”

I looked up at the person who had so rudely and forcefully seized my wrist. Behind a mask adorned with white feathers, a cold gaze peered back at me.

“Your disguise is too weak.”

The temperature of the hand gripping my wrist, the red eyes peeking through the mask, and the wave of emotions that crashed over me like a spray of water…

“Victor?”

I found myself uttering his name without thinking. His piercing red eyes stared down at me, chillingly cold.

The moment our eyes met, it felt as though the clock’s ticking stopped, and within the bustling ballroom, it was just him and me, alone.

“Since the Imperial Saint herself has called my name, I am at a loss for what to do.”

I bit my lip, wondering if I was still wandering in a dream. The sharp pain spreading across my lips made me want to deny the reality.

“How…?”

He called me the Saint. I couldn’t understand how he recognized me.

‘No matter what mask you wear, I’ll recognize you instantly, my Saint.’

Suddenly, his words from the past flashed through my mind.

‘No matter how hard you try to hide, it won’t work in front of me. Go ahead, try to hide.’

Even though time had been reversed from the flames of the pyre, just as I couldn’t forget him, had he also remembered me?

“Was I the first to find you?”

My lips dried and tightened in my flustered state. As the orchestra’s leisurely classical music shifted to a faster tempo, he extended his hand toward me.

“Since I was the first to find you, you’ll dance at least one song with me, won’t you?”

With a commanding tone, my hand was forcibly led into his grasp. One hand rested on his shoulder, while the other was naturally taken into his hand.

My hand rested on the floor.

Like a scene from my memories, I never imagined I’d dance with you again…

“And you, Saint, how did you recognize me so quickly?”

Victor, you’re asking how I recognized you? It was a ridiculous question. How could I ever forget you? Your voice, your gaze, even the smallest gesture—I couldn’t forget any of it.

“…Because I couldn’t forget.”

As I confessed my honest feelings, his crimson eyes wavered slightly, filled with surprise.

“May I ask you in return? How did you recognize me?”

“I figured if you were tired of being treated like a Saint, you’d dress in something drab to avoid attention. But did you know? A plain mask without any decoration only makes your blue eyes stand out more.”

A laugh escaped me at his arrogant tone.

“How strange. For someone who claims not to have forgotten me, you’ve been trailing after the First Prince.”

The words he whispered into my ear made my swirling emotions settle. I naturally aligned my steps with his, just like the timeless waltz we once danced together.

“…Your Highness, would you call my name just once?”

“What a curious thing.”

As I leaned back against his firm body, the hem of my dress fanned out in a graceful arc.

“Is this the miracle of the masquerade? Acting friendly, which isn’t like you at all. What are you really after?”

“Feel free to misunderstand me, but just this once, please call my name.”

I focused on his lips, barely visible beneath the mask. Finally, they lifted, and he murmured my name.

“…Abigail.”

He called me that. Not “Licia, my Saint,” whispered in that pleasing voice, but coldly, with no warmth, just “Abigail.”

“Unfortunately, I’m neither the daughter of Count Miller nor the Empire’s Saint.”

Only now did I realize. He had simply mistaken me for Abigail. That was all it was.

“I’m not in the mood for pointless word games.”

As I denied it, he looked down at me with a deeply displeased expression.

“Just moments ago, you claimed you couldn’t forget me, and now you’re saying you’re not the Saint?”

‘Victor, how could I ever forget you? The voice that once vowed eternal love to me. The madness in your eyes as you tore apart my dress and branded my back with a searing iron. The touch of your hand as you dragged me by my hair to the stake!’