A Butterfly Through the Mist - Side Story 9

“Come in, honey.”

How on earth he knew she was there, Ilex opened the door with a sudden swing before she had even knocked. Tilia, who looked up at him in brief surprise, soon stepped through the space he had opened with a composed expression.

The now-familiar structure of the office came into view. Tilia slowly scanned the desk and sofa, where many things had once taken place, then turned her head at the sound of the door closing behind her.

“So, what happened that had you fluttering around like a sparrow?”

Sparrow? She had charged in like an enraged buffalo. Tilia had meant to respond with dignity but found herself at a loss for words.

Just moments ago, she had undoubtedly rushed over to show Ilex the two letters spelling [Passed]. Like an excited colt, she had pounded her feet in eagerness to boast.

But now, with the moment to actually show him the letter upon her, she felt her heart shrink like a snail caught in the rain.

The acceptance notice she had checked on the staircase landing, still giddy, clearly stated her overall ranking as third place.

Third place. It might be high from an objective point of view, but not for Tilia, who had always received report cards marked only with the numbers 1 or 2.

She had been so fixated on the word “passed” that she had forgotten about her rank. Ilex Davenport must have lived a life filled only with firsts and seconds as well. No—he must have considered anything lower than first place unacceptable.

…What if he’s disappointed that it’s neither first nor second?

That thought pierced her heart like a needle and quickly infected it with the virus of anxiety.

“What is it, Tilia?”

As if sensing her turmoil, Ilex took a step closer.

“You came because you had something to say.”

“…No, I just dropped by.”

Hide it. With that decision, Tilia shook her head in haste, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“Weren’t you here to show me this?”

Ilex, who had swiftly closed the distance, snatched the paper she had been hiding behind her back.

It took no time at all for the crumpled sheet to reveal its entire contents.

As the man silently read the notice, Tilia bit her lip in vain. The hand that had helplessly let the letter be taken now fidgeted with anxiety in its place.

Of all places, the office. Just as the long-forgotten memories she thought she had buried began to pound at her temples—

“See? I told you.”

A large hand gently lifted her chin. Into her wide, green eyes flooded the soft bluish-gray hue of his gaze.

“If you didn’t pass, who would?”

“…You never said that.”

“I did.”

“No, all you said was it’s okay even if I don’t pass.”

“Same thing.”

What do you mean, same thing? They’re totally different. Tilia wanted to grumble, but his kisses scattered across her face kept her from speaking.

As warm as his gaze, the tender touch left traces on her eyelids, cheeks, and lips. Everywhere he kissed felt as though a spring she thought had passed was blooming anew.

I knew you’d pass. I knew it. Tilia, joyful like a child receiving a birthday gift, silently looked at Ilex as he nuzzled her cheek, then slowly closed her eyes.

Behind those lids, waves rose. A tide that soaked her heart without the slightest chill swept away the memories of violence she had once feared.

***

It was the written test that had been the real hurdle; the third round had posed no particular challenge. After safely earning the word “Final Acceptance,” Tilia casually grabbed the letter and a basket of fruit and headed to Judy.

“I knew you’d do it, Tilia!”

As expected, her long-time friend jumped with joy, celebrating her success.

“Careful, careful.”

Tilia gently held Judy’s shoulder, trying to calm her.

That past late spring, Lady Bartlett had become pregnant again. After safely passing the early stages amid a mix of worries and blessings, her belly had grown noticeably.

“It’s the stable period, so this much is fine.”

Smiling at her friend’s concern, Judy rubbed her round belly.

“The doctor came yesterday and said everything looks perfect. So I should be able to attend your entrance ceremony.”

Then, with sparkling eyes, Judy looked up at Tilia.

“I… I can go to the ceremony, right?”

“Would you not come if I said no?”

“Yeah. But I’ll cry at the school gate. With this big belly, calling your name, sobbing and wailing.”

Judy pretended to weep without shedding a tear. Then she peeked at Tilia’s face with one eye open.

Pfft. Unable to help it, Tilia burst out laughing, and Judy joined in with a bright laugh of her own.

“How could I make a pregnant woman cry? I’ll send a carriage instead, so take that.”

“Yes! Works for me!”

Judy continued teasing just enough to provoke Tilia’s protests, and only sat down when a maid mentioned that she had brought in some fruit.

“I hope my baby is smart like you.”

As she munched on the sweet red apple Tilia had brought, Judy looked at her friend with a gleam in her eye as if she had an idea.

“Tilia, give me your hand for a second.”

Obliging with a puzzled face, Tilia let Judy guide her hand to rest on her swollen belly.

“Baby. Don’t take after your mom or dad’s brain—take this auntie’s instead.”

Her soft voice settled into the parlor, fragrant with the scent of apples. In that peaceful scene, Tilia quietly closed her eyes and offered a prayer.

No, baby. You don’t need to inherit my brain. Just be born into this world with your mother’s face and her lovely heart.

If you do, everyone in the world will love you.

***

Yes. There truly were days when everything felt that wonderful.

Finishing her recollection of the season when the cold wind had already arrived but a few scattered leaves still clung to branches, Tilia opened her dim eyes and looked ahead.

On the desk, now unusually messy for someone usually so tidy, a crumpled piece of paper stood out.

She stared at it blankly, then slowly reached out and dragged it toward her.

The scribbles on the paper, creased without care, were her own. Without enthusiasm, she unfolded it and read the words at the very top.

Resignation Letter.

When she had written it, the act had been filled with such relief and joy—but it hadn’t taken much to get from there to the letter being shoved thoughtlessly into a corner of the desk.

With a complicated expression, Tilia recalled the day she had opened the box she might have been better off leaving shut.

***

“Must be nice, catching a good man and getting into grad school.”

The misfortune had begun with that petty remark.

Here we go again. Tilia, overhearing Emily Burgess’s voice from a small supply room in the break area, thought blandly.

Her former supervisor, Emily, had been gossiping about her behind her back ever since she had been publicly embarrassed by Tilia once.

Emily’s usual phrases during these backbiting sessions were all variations on a theme: “so arrogant,” “she’s from a fallen noble family,” “who even knows where she came from”…

They say you can judge a person’s class by how they insult others. Emily Burgess was living proof of that saying.

Tilia listened calmly to the words of a woman who clearly had eyes for her husband, and let out a faint laugh.

Fine, maybe it’s about time I taught her another lesson.

She had been about to throw open the storage room door, planning to make Emily quit this time for good—

“She’s showing off, even though she only got in because of her husband. Everyone knows, right? That the Davenport family made a secret donation to the Royal Academy.”

Secret. Donation. Royal Academy?

Those unexpected words halted Tilia’s hand on the storage door handle. She strained to hear beyond the pantry.

“Oh, you didn’t know? Keep it to yourself. My close friend works at the Ministry of Land…”

But, as always, her former supervisor proved to be of no help. Emily’s voice grew fainter as she followed the newcomer who clearly wanted to avoid her, and eventually faded away.

She works at the Ministry of Land… And then what?

Annoyed, Tilia burst out of the supply room and flung open the pantry door—but Emily Burgess had already vanished somewhere.

Tilia waited a while, hoping she’d return, but as lunch break ended and the woman didn’t show, she finally sat down with movements tinged in frustration.

It’s a lie.

She muttered as she stared at the resignation letter on her desk, the one she had resolved to submit today.

Emily Burgess had spewed nasty words more times than she could count. Surely this was just another lie.

And yet, even as she said that to herself, Tilia couldn’t shake the sentence Emily had said.

No matter how she tried to dismiss it, the word “donation,” and the claim about a friend in the Ministry, clung to her mind.

The thing was, Emily had never spread rumors backed by any detailed circumstances before. Her words were always plainly, obviously false. But now, terms like “secret” and “donation” left a bitter feeling.

Because it sounded far too much like something Ilex Davenport would actually do.

As if tripping over a stone, Tilia kept stumbling on her doubts—and at last, let out a sigh and stood from her seat.