The rest of the night, Marchioness Fresa followed Countess Marron around like a tail on a dog. The sight of the least popular, pandering-excessive Marchioness following the ill, politically unpopular Countess was a strange sight for everyone. Being around Countess Marron gave the Marchioness no advantage and the Countess certainly didn’t benefit by associating with the Marchioness. No one could understand why they were together.

Because the Countess had a chronic illness, she wasn’t able to attend the party until 8pm like everyone else. Her husband had to stay and meant to send for a maid to make sure she arrived at their room safely. However, the Marchioness insisted on doing it personally. Because this was counted as a favor and denying it was denying the March Fresa’s good will, the Count was forced to accept her offer despite not trusting her.

Countess Marron found the Marchioness a very strange person and not at all like the rumors made her out to be. She technically did everything as required by etiquette and could not be faulted for her behavior on the surface, but there was a vague sense of alienation coming from her. Like she did not belong there and became uncomfortable if she was left alone too long.

On top of that, whenever she said something particularly harsh and condescending, she looked vexed. As if she’d misspoken and was frustrated with herself. This was not at all in line with her reputation as an extravagant, domineering socialite who dabbled in the darkest parts of society without any shame.

The Countess did not know the Marchioness well beyond how other’s spoke of her. Despite being neighbors, they didn’t send cards to each other. It’s not that the Countess didn’t try at first, but the Marchioness had never sent one back, implicitly rejecting her. After a while, the Countess stopped, thinking it was a waste and a bother to the other person.

When the Countess still had her health, she and the Marchioness had completely different circles they moved in, so they never met in society and barely spoke if they happened to be in the same place. Then the Countess got ill and for 5 years had been living in semi-isolation. That made everything she knew about the Marchioness even less reliable.

Upon seeing her again after so many years, the Countess' intuition told her the Marchioness had fundamentally changed, for the better. The Countess had always had a good eye for people, and even if she hadn’t been able to use this talent much recently, she was still confident in it. That was why, even if the Marchioness behaved inconsistently with her reputation, the Countess didn’t turn her away but let the Marchioness accompany her.

The longer their time together, the stronger the Countess felt she was right. When the Marchioness walked the Countess back, the Countess was so tired she almost tripped and seriously hurt herself. But the Marchioness seemed to notice something was wrong, and had her rest and then personally held her arm to steady her the rest of the way.

This kind of behavior was akin to acting like a servant. But never once did the Marchioness look upset or annoyed, only expressing a sincere desire to look after the Countess with her actions. Could someone known for her pride and vanity really behave in such a humble manner?

The Countess didn’t think so.

When Count Marron returned to his room some time later, his wife was in bed but still awake. Unless she was having a particular bad day dealing with the pain from her illness, she always waited for him to come home before sleeping.

He was both incomparably moved and distraught by this habit of hers. It would be better if she slept early but no matter how he nagged she wouldn’t listen to him. Unless he had the maids drug her, there was no way to get her to sleep as she ought. As a sensible fellow, he wouldn’t drug his wife unless as a last resort, and only for her health’s sake at the last hour. Sometimes he pretended to go to bed early to get her to fall asleep, only to sneak out later to finish his business.

Dragging his tired body that smelled strongly of alcohol and cigars into bed, he collapsed on sheets and asked the question that had been bugging him all night, “Why on earth did you let that harpy, Marchioness Fresa, follow you around all night?”

“Carmelo Marron!” The Countess looked at him with disapproval.

“What? I’m being nice by calling her a harpy, people say worse things about her.”

“Then you be even better than those people and don’t say anything bad at all.”

He reached out and fiddled with the long braided blue hair running down the pillow she was using to proper herself up.

“Bonny, you’re too kind. She doesn’t deserve it.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Since it’s my kindness, I get to decide who deserves it or not.”

He frowned, pouting slightly. He then slunk over to her side and wrapped his arms around her.

“You’re my wife, why are you defending that har— disreputable lady instead of me?”

She raised an eyebrow, “Do you need defending? From who?”

“Duke Invierno picked on me all night!”

She paused and gave his head a pat, “And how did the Duke pick on you?”

“Wouldn’t stop giving me drinks and then stole all my money at the card tables!”

“Everyone knows Duke Invierno has an unworldly liquor tolerance. I’m amazed you’re even capable of stringing coherent sentences together after trying to drink with him. And even if you weren’t drunk, you’ve always been a terrible gambler. We both know you’d lose all your money tonight. That’s why I gave you a strict budget to follow.”

He looked up at her with a pitiful expression. “Even my wife doesn’t defend me…. I’m all alone in the world… all alone...”

She burst out laughing and, poking his forehead, declared, “You’re drunk, not alone!”

“Because of that dratted Invierno!”

She stroked him like she was soothing a child, “Yes yes, it was all that Duke’s fault.”

“It’s not like I wanted to drink with him…” He sniffed morosely, “How are we to make it if I can’t even get a single duke to side with me?”

“Mel, we have gotten by all these years—”

“It’s not enough! Without at least one duke backing us, no one that matters will ever take us seriously!” He hit the mattress in frustration, causing his wife to sigh. Even drunk, he worried about this problem.

But there was nothing she, riddled with a chronic illness, could do to help. That her weak body further dragged him down frustrated her too. If she was properly healthy, at least she could help network from the women’s side of things...

In a corner of the room, invisible and unnoticed to the couple, a round object floated in the air, it’s circumference glowing. The center of it was totally white, like the moon. It stayed for a while longer before leaving, going through the wall as if it was air.

It floated through wall after wall until it came to the room Marchioness Frisa was staying. The Marchioness was sprawled out on the bed, sleeping heavily, sheets sprawled out until they were almost hanging off the bed.

The blank face showed a / on it and then three dots. It floated to a corner of the sheets and, though it had no hands, somehow managed to pick up a corner. Very carefully it brought the sheet up and over, until the bed was properly made once again. After it was finished a ) appeared on its face, as if satisfied.

Almost immediately after this tranquil moment, the Marchioness turned to her other side. Then turned again. And again. And finally a foot kicked out, taking the sheets with them, until they were once again a mess and half hanging off the bed.

Several ##### appeared on the floating circle’s face. Once again it grabbed a corner and lifted, bringing it back up and over the sleeping woman.

How many times this repeated during the night, and all the nights before, only the mysterious circle knew.

The next day Felicia woke up and got ready to go home. After taking the Countess to her room, Felicia had also retired early rather than stay up drinking and playing games. Who would want to socialize with her? It was so awkward to think about, she didn’t dare. Instead she got out of that heavy, ugly dress and collapsed in her bed, sleeping deeply all night long.

No matter how hung over the guests were from the night before, they all had to leave before lunch. If it had been the host, she would have dawdled as much as possible. Probably because she drank and played around too much the night before. But Felicia had sensibly gone to bed early and now had a son at home under the dubious care of the Steward and Viscount she needed to return to.

Because everyone was leaving on the same day, getting carriages into the castle and then to their passenger was an ordeal. All the luggage was brought over while she was having breakfast and then they had to wait, either inside a room or near the front door that led to the exit.

Felicia chose waiting by the door, specifically outside. The weather was nice and she usually learned something simply by observing people.

Most noblewomen wouldn’t do this for fear of tanning their delicate pale skin. This kind of thinking reminded Felicia of the women on the paternal side of the family, all of which were Chinese and obsessed with having perfectly clear, white skin. They even bleached their skin to make it lighter. She never liked that way of thinking and secretly rebelled against it.

It was fine to wear sunscreen lotion to prevent skin cancer, but getting a light tan wasn’t the end of the world, ok? It looked healthy! Even though it was a new world, the fact that this particular beauty standard carried over annoyed her.

So in defiance to her paternal family and the people here who thought like them, she stood outside. In the sun. With only a hat. Her maids stood beside her, faces twitching in disbelief.

Both noblemen and women cast her astonished glances. She raised her chin and blatantly returned their stares with a “Yeah, wanna fight about it?” kind of expression on her face. They immediately averted their gaze at her blatant aggressiveness.

[I believe you have become more rebellious since entering this host.] DARS commented as the nth person turned to their companion to blatantly whisper over her strange behavior.

‘I think so too.’ Felicia said, feeling pleased. ‘At first I thought Calle was useless, but she’s got some good qualities, they just need to be channeled correctly. For instance, she’s arrogant but the flip side of that is total self-confidence. That annoying stubbornness is actually just a strong resistance to external pressure. Just those two qualities alone are great because I’m not like that. I’m pretty timid by nature and tend to go with the flow unless I’m pushed too far.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

[Have you two reconciled then?]

‘Not exactly, more like we’ve called a truce and are negotiating for peace.’ She tilted her head thoughtfully. ‘But the parts that we more or less agree on, personality wise, we’ve pretty much… I dunno… melded? Combined? Whatever that thing that happens the longer I’m in a host, it happened.’

DARS floated in front of her and got closer to her face.

She resisted the urge to physically lean away and asked, ‘What?’

[You are not afraid?]

‘Afraid…? Oh, because of last time? Naw! Last time, well, I didn’t believe you about returning to myself. That’s why I was so uncomfortable and eager to leave.’

[I would not lie about that.]

‘I know you wouldn’t. It’s not like I thought you were lying back then either… it’s just I’d never experienced it. I was afraid because I had no frame of reference. No matter how you reassured me, until I went through it, I couldn’t believe you. Not really. But now I’ve gone through it and I know what to expect. It’s not some scary unknown thing in the future. I can embrace myself and the host with 100% confidence.’

DARS floated away. Though his expression was as always, she got the strange sense he wasn’t happy with her answer.

‘Are you upset?’ She asked, confused by the mixed signals she was getting from him.

[Why do you think I’m upset?] He returned her question with one of his own.

‘I don’t know, it just seems like you are….’

[I don’t know if I am upset.] He paused, apparently thinking. [I have never lied to you about the process, only withheld information where required. In the last timeline, I was with you and helping you, yet despite all those years we were together you did not believe in me.]

Felicia’s heart tightened. ‘Aw, DARS…. I didn’t mean it like that…’

[I know. That is why I said I’m not sure if I am upset.] He bobbed in the air. [It is human nature to fear the unknown. For me to get upset about it is pointless.]

‘Even if it’s pointless, that doesn’t mean you can’t be upset about it.’

For a moment he was quiet and then he said, [That’s true. You often get upset about pointless things.]

The pity she was feeling evaporated, ‘Oy. You round little punk, are you trying to fight with me?’

[I will not fight with the user.]

‘Ha. Ha. Ha. You should be glad we’re in public, otherwise—’

They spent several minutes squabbling. When the carriage pulled up she was so distracted she almost missed it. The maids had to tug her along.

The two day trip back reminded Felicia of the pitiful state of the Fresa March. Going from a well-managed fief to Fresa further contrasted how horrible everything was in her home fief. Her rump in particular yearned for a properly managed fief that cared about road maintenance.

‘Why doesn’t everyone just move?’ She said, feeling depressed at how depressed everyone in her fief looked.

[And how will they do that? What money do they have for it? A carriage to haul their belongings? Do they go empty handed? Is there a home waiting on the other side? A job? If they lack connections and money, how can they move to a better place?]

‘Oh.’

[Furthermore, the Viscount won’t let them.]

‘...he can do that?’

[As long as the nobles don’t contradict the King’s Laws, they can rule their fiefs however they please.]

‘Tsk, what a dirtbag…’ She muttered.

Upon returning, a row of servants lined up neatly outside to greet them. The more servants in a mansion, the wealthier and therefore more prestigious it was, so this was just a show to sooth Calle’s vanity and pride. But to Felicia it was a pointless waste of time and one more thing she had to remember to change later.

There was also an important figure missing from all these people though: her son. Turning to the Butler, she immediately asked, “Where is the Heir Childe?”

The Butler looked surprised but immediately responded, “Marchioness, I believe he is waiting in his room—”

“I will leave the luggage for you then and go.” She cut him off, lifted her skirts slightly and fast-walked into the house.

After watching the Marchioness leave in such a hurry, the Head Maid tutted and said to the Butler, “I told you the Marchioness liked her son and you should bring the Nanny and Heir Childe out to greet her. I did say.”

The Butler huffed, “Yes, yes, yes, you were right. But you must admit my reasoning was sound too. With how often the Marchioness changes her mind, who knows if she’ll like him when she returns? Especially after the Duchess’ party…”

The Head Maid folded her hands over her chest, “I’m think God really made a miracle and changed the Marchioness—”

“Ugh, now you’re spouting that ridiculous nonsense?” The Butler rolled his eyes, “It’s bad enough so many Juniors believe it, but you’re a Senior…”

“What’s wrong with believing God made a miracle?”

He laughed sourly, “Nothing wrong with miracles, just the location is wrong. We all know Fresa March is a land abandoned by God.”

Unknown to them, a small figure of a child had been watching below from a window on the second floor. When he saw the Marchioness enter the house, he hurried away from the window.

Felicia made her way to the second story, to Querido’s room. She brushed herself off nervously, just then realizing she’d gathered a bit of dirt and dust from having the windows open on the carriage.

She said to her host, ‘Alright, I know we aren’t in agreement about Rido, but can’t we soften up a little? I’m not saying we HAVE to call him by his name— or that cute lil’ nickname I made—but let’s at least consistently call him “my son”, ok? You’re willing to do it around strangers and outsiders, why not to his face? It’s not like it’ll hurt anything...’

When her host remained tranquil, Felicia brightened. Silence was the same as consent for a person like Calle.

Feeling confident, she knocked politely on the door. Immediately the Nanny opened, meaning she’d likely been waiting for the knock.

Querido was standing in the center of the room. Unlike before, he was not wearing frills. After talking extensively to the seamstress, they had designed a new kind of children’s clothes. It was still essentially a dress, but now there was a cute pair of shorts peeking out, pockets on the front of the dress, and the frills were gone. The soft, pale colors had been replaced with bright red and black colors— the family colors of Fresa and Mora.

Before she had left, these outfits hadn’t been completed yet. That he was wearing them now was a surprise. She felt her heart take a hit from the cuteness overload and despite her best efforts, she knew the expression on her face must look…. Unusual.

Querido didn’t step forward, nor did his facial expression change, but his eyes watched her face closely. He seemed to be observing her to see how she would respond— to what specifically, the clothes, himself, Felicia wasn’t sure.

She took wide steps forward and scooped him up into a tight embrace.

“My son, my son…” She repeated as she held him, trying to force as much affection into the words as possible. Setting Querido down, she asked, “Did you bring shame to the family name while I was gone? Or did you behave as befitting of the Heir Childe, just as I instructed?”

Calle’s face froze immediately after speaking. Felicia let her guard down because her host had let her say ‘my son’ so affectionately and dared speak more than was necessary. She regretted her decision.

To her surprise, Querido didn’t get upset— that is, he didn’t remain stony faced or distant. Instead his expression noticeably softened. Still held by his mother, he patted her on the shoulder, as if realizing she needed comfort.

“Mother, I am fine. I have listened to Nanny while you were gone.” He paused and then asked with some hesitance, “The seamstress gave me these clothes… do you like them?”

Felicia felt like Querido might be an angel. He’d given his abombinable mother a second chance and even managed to figure out the good intent behind the bristling words.

She put him down, then took his hand and guided him into a spin. From every angle, he was adorable to look at. When she’d seen every part of him, she nodded, satisfied.

Thinking carefully on the phrasing, she said, “Since I designed these clothes, naturally they will make whoever wears them look excellent.”

Though it wasn’t exactly what Felicia wanted to say, it was close enough that she’d let it slide.

Querido looked down at himself, pulling his dress to look at it more carefully. “So what the seamstress said was true….”

“What did that servant say to you?” Felicia couldn’t help asking curiously.

“She said you put a lot of time and effort into these clothes and would be happy to see me wear them when you return. I’ve never seen these kinds of clothes before and thought…” His eyes unfocused for a moment, “But no. If mother says I look good in them, then I must look good.”

She frowned slightly. Could it be he thought they were ugly and someone was making fun of him?

“My sense of fashion is impeccable.” Felicia insisted in a stiff voice and then muttered quietly to herself, “If no one can appreciate my brilliance, I can not be blamed for it.”

The mutter wasn’t lost on Querido. He suddenly looked up at her and laughed.

Felicia hadn’t expected to get laughed at and stood there blankly in shock.

The last time this boy had smiled at the host had been when he was a baby. By the time he was a toddler, he’d no longer viewed her as his mother but a scary person who looked at him with cold, predatory eyes. Therefore unless she commanded it, he was always quiet in her presence, usually with a hint of fear in his face.

When Querido saw his mother frozen, he immediately stopped laughing and rearranged his face into the usual one of indifference. Since she began to treat him well, he’d forgotten that she disliked him when he was noisy.

Felicia wanted to slap herself for her slow response. It was causing a misunderstanding!

She quickly thought of how to phrase her words so that the host wouldn’t interfere with them but the point would still get across.

Clearing her throat, she acted as though she was speaking to the air, “The Mora Family has always had a magnificent smile and laugh. I dare say, the Mora Family’s jovial face ranks in the top 10 in the kingdom— no, top 5. When someone of Mora lineage for example, laughs, they would definitely be a glorious sight to behold.”

As Felicia expected, this kind of over-the-top boasting of Calle’s lineage was embraced wholeheartedly by the host. Not a single thing came out edited, it was 100% as Felicia intended.

A vague worry sprouted in Felicia’s mind: Before she was done with this timeline, would she get so used to speaking as the host liked that she’d forget how to speak normally?

The fact that it seemed likely was almost as depressing to her as the state of Fresa March.

Querido had been drilled in the lineages of the higher nobility by his governess. He knew that he was the only grandson of the Mora Family. Therefore, he immediately recognized his mother was indirectly praising him for laughing.

For weeks she had eaten all her meals with him and then lately hugged him and kissed him every night. When she left, she worried for him, when she returned she eagerly came to see him and make sure he was still in good health. She specially had his clothes made, specifically because she wanted him to look more handsome. Today she didn’t mind that he laughed— no, she thought his laugh was beautiful. But most importantly, she had called him “my son” over and over again.

She considered him family.

The flickering warmth he’d felt in his heart towards his mother after she began treating him well suddenly exploded into a raging inferno. The feeling was so overwhelming that, without realizing it, he began to cry.

“Oh—!” Felicia saw the big tears rolling down his face and felt a surge of panic. Had he misunderstood what she’d said? Fearing to say more and make things worse and thinking he was upset with her, she turned to the Nanny in a fluster, her expression pleading.

The Nanny walked over and Felicia took a step back to give them space. When the Nanny reached out to touch him, Querido pushed her away and ran towards the Marchioness.

He grabbed onto her slightly dusty travel dress and buried his face into the folds, wailing between sobs, “Mama, mama!”

“Oh!” He’d never used an intimate form of address with her. It was always the very polite ‘Mother’, as though he was saying Boss or Mister. She knelt down and embraced him, stroking his dyed hair and saying soothingly as possible, “My son, my son…”

The Nanny stood where she was, her empty arms in the air. She quickly put them to her side and took several steps back, biting her lower lip as she went.

All Nannies knew that they were temporary substitutes. They did many of the things a mother did, but they could never be their charge’s mother. A charge who was too attached to their Nanny was a Nanny doing their job poorly.

The loyalty of the child must always return to their mother. That was natural and right. Flor had worried for years about the fact that Querido had no loyalty to his mother and, especially over the last year, had actively begun to hate her. Now that they had opened their hearts to each other, it was good… very good but...

She couldn’t help feeling a little empty, a little lonely, a little like she had lost something precious.