Time passed, and no further words were exchanged. Silence reigned in the room, as Annalise played with her hair.
Elena continued her relentless assault on the tea table, unconcerned by the silence. What did bother her a touch was the occasional scornful gaze, stemming from Annalise’s round, green eyes. But they lasted a short time, as Annalise would raise her chin and the state of things would return to normal.
There was a tacit understanding between both women that there was nothing to say, nothing to discuss.
It’s expected for two women—no, for two people— left in the same room for a long time to spare no second before chattering incessantly. This silence between them, therefore, was a form of communication in itself. There was a meaning to be found in the two of them having run out of words meant for the other.
Elena knew what her reasons were. She wasn’t one for speaking with strangers. Her mother, for example, could strike up a conversation with anyone she just met on the spot, blabbering endlessly to them like she’d known them her whole life.
Elena was different. Her words were always delivered with intent. Maybe to ask for something, or to tell a joke. She was unable to simply speak for the sheer pleasure of speaking. If she were to talk to Annalise, it’d be with the intent of trying to know her, but that desire was not present within Elena.
This left the question of why Annalise had no wish to strike up a conversation—however, Elena could presume an answer.
Earlier, Annalise had referred to her as a commoner.
Her haughty behavior as well as her expensive accessories and clothes gave away her position as a noble, or something of the sort. A woman born to great wealth and an easy life as a member of the upper class. If this was an Otome game, she’d fit the bill as the typical archetype befitting of a Villainess.
Despite being disguised with clothes ripped from the Royal Wardrobe, Annalise had correctly assessed Elena’s position in society—or rather, that of the original owner of Elena’s body. As a result, she’d been deemed as someone beneath Annalise, someone not worthy of being spoken to.
This was probably for the best. To speak with a stuck-up noble would be enough to ignite Elena into a frenzy. She knew a couple of girls like that back in school, lacking in actual noble blood but carrying the attitude nonetheless, and hearing them speak was enough to want to rip their throats.
People who thought themselves superior just for existing—those people were the lowest of the low.
Thus, Elena was grateful for the silence. It was wiser then, to carry on blissfully indulging herself with all the delicious treats laid in front of her. If the lady in front of her were to cast her a judging eye, then it was better to not even bless them with the privilege of bringing her own eyes to her level. She had no time for gazes belonging to snakes, snakes whose poisons she recognized very well.
Sadly, the silence would not last.
“Lady Annalise, there you are.”
Opening a door behind her, a trio of girls entered the room and greeted Annalise. They were clad in surprisingly plain dresses, each one of a different primary color and devoid of the intricate patterns Annalise’s had. Their black hairs were all styled similarly, and their facial features differed little, all featuring tiny noses and brown eyes. They all sat next to Annalise, and coldly glared at Elena alongside her, who remained sitting on her lonesome.
The splendor Annalise gave off only shone brighter when sharing a frame with those three girls. If this were a game, you could tell just from a look that Annalise was an important NPC, while the others were given a standard female model by the devs in order to save money.
“This is the Marked the Prince is so obsessed with?” one of them suddenly asked, pointing at Elena with the subtlety of someone who pretends they’re being discrete, but doesn’t actually want to be.
“Idiot! You weren’t supposed to say that out loud” another reprimanded.
“I could’ve never guessed from her plump shape” the last one added.
Elena burrowed her frown and gritted her teeth. She didn’t want to start a ruckus, and so let the words pass through her. Even so, she couldn’t hide her annoyance at the mention of her shape—she was skinnier than she’d ever been, and somehow that was what they were attacking?
“Girls, please,” Annalise cut them off, with a hand gesture resembling that of a conductor of an orchestra. “It’s not her fault she was born being an affront to the Goddess.”
As she finished uttering that last s, laughter arose out of her. Before a second could go by, the other three joined in on the laughter, as if they were actors waiting for the moment to read their lines.
“OH HO HO HO!” was the overwhelming sound that filled the room.
Any attempt at subtlety had disappeared. The snakes had gotten their fangs out, no longer hiding their murderous intent.
That was when Elena understood.
They hated her.
Same as the silence from before communicated indifference, their behavior communicated hatred. All of their actions were canned, carefully plotted to hurt Elena.
She didn’t know why—no, she did know why. It was for reasons beyond her control. That was why they hated her. Or rather, why Annalise hated her. The other three, as far as Elena cared, were not human. Despite being made of flesh and bone, they were accessories, no different to the necklaces and chains Annalise had on her body, more doll than women.
She knew their type. As their mocking laughter drilled her eardrums, recollections of her past life rose to the front of her mind, records of vipers that bit with similar fangs.
And so, Elena lifted her chin, exceeding in pride, and with a concrete plan of action… simply smiled politely.
The four women exchanged confused stares between each other, but it did not disturb her. She was resolute in her behavior.
No matter how much it hurt, the correct path was to pay their words no heed. This was the technique that’d always served her well back in her school days, and it’d no doubt be effective here.
Bullies, by their very nature, seek to strike at the powerless. But most sweet of all is the prey that lacks the power to fight back, yet possesses the will to do so. For a bully, there was no juicier fruit than a lowly creature, trying with all its might to make a stand yet strengthless to do so.
The way to minimize pain, thus, was to let the poison of their words that’d entered her body dilute itself with the water from her blood. To simply embrace their scratching edge and face them with a smile on her face.
After all, a prey that shows no resistance is one that won’t entertain.
Trust me—I know this from experience.
“Lady Annalise,” a voice suddenly called, full of sound but devoid of emotion. “Forgive my imprudence, I’ll be taking care of the plates.”
Everybody turned to stare at the open door, through which a young maiden of crystalline blue eyes and small stature made her way into the room. The girl known by Number 9 bowed her head, standing next to the chair Elena was sitting on.
“Oh no, I’m the one in need of apologizing,” Annalise said, smirking while throwing side glances at the members of her posse. “It seems we got the wrong address. Looks like we stumbled upon the Marked convention.”
Once again, Annalise laughed and the rest joined in on cue, a wave of laughter that was clearly performative in nature, as her joke was not worthy of such a reaction. Elena paid the chortling itself less mind this time, as her mind latched on to something much more important.
That word—Marked. That was the word they’d now twice used, first to refer to her and now to refer to Number 9. They’d also mentioned something about being an affront to the Goddess.
Most importantly, it was the same word that bandit had called her the day she arrived on this world. With only the utterance of that word, he’d been able to capture her in plain view of the surrounding crowd. A simple word was all it took to give that man the power to relieve her of her right to freedom, of her right to be human.
Elena’s mind began to ponder. To ponder a nefarious possibility, one that she hadn’t considered up until this point, in part because it was too dreadful to even consider it.
The fantastic stories she used to read back on Earth often involved not only humans, but many different races of varying characteristics. Tall elves, short dwarves, or beastmen with fur for skin, among others. However, in darker works, writers would attempt to add a touch of cynicism to the setting by making these races discriminate against each other.
How well each work executed this depended on the writer’s skill. Elena recalled many a story clumsily employing the power of analogy and arriving at conclusions of questionable nature. But even so, there was a good reason this trope made its way into so many narratives—it was a way of using fantasy to handle complex real-life topics, such as racism and xenophobia, while staying one step removed from the pain caused by the real deal.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
All fine and good, but if it turns out she’d been reborn as a member of an oppressed people… well, she couldn’t tell for sure what that would entail.
Her eyes filled with doubt and anxiety. Like a dog chasing their tail, Elena began rapidly inspecting all plainly-visible parts of her own body, looking for a hint. She grabbed her ears, attempting to feel out their shape with her fingers; they were round, as expected of a human and unexpected of an elf. She wasn’t particularly short, and she lacked in fur.
She was a regular human, of that there was no…
“YOU. BEAST IN THE MOLD OF A HUMAN!”
A loud yell broke Elena out of her trance. Her eyes saw a slice of cake, now splattered all over Annalise’s dress.
“All you pigs know how to do is serve, and you can’t even do it properly.”
For her part, Number 9 gave no reaction to the relentless assault of vile words, instead continuing to collect the empty plates without missing a beat. She turned around to leave, but amidst the loud screaming, a new presence made itself known.
“Good morning, ladies.”
With a tone that balanced a line between pompous and uncannily serene, Charles announced his arrival to all in the room. He was better groomed this time, his straight hair flowing down to his shoulders, albeit with the occasional rebellious strand of hair that went in its own direction. Bags underlined his eyes and his blinking lasted for a long time. Really, his entire aura just screamed, “I just woke up”. Despite this, he was still a handsome young man, his natural beauty shining through despite his best efforts.
“Oh, Prince Charles, thank you for coming here. This filthy Marked just ruined my favorite dress!” Annalise’s vile finger pointed at Number 9. “Driven by her beastlike impulses, she let one of the remaining pastries drop on my fine self.”
Elena hadn’t been paying attention when the cake made contact with the dress, but she needed no proof to cast disbelief at Annalise’s claims. There was no way that girl, who’d barely shown any emotion up to this point, was willing to do let their anger get the best of her.
“Is this true, Number 9?” Charles asked.
Number 9 gave no response, instead simply casting her gaze at the floor and standing straight.
“Your Highness, why are you wasting your time asking for that Marked’s opinion? Just dole out the appropriate punishment for her imprudence.”
Before that last word of hers managed to fully leave her putrid mouth, Annalise pierced Elena with her alluring eyes colored gold.
It was a very calculated look, one that’d been crafted like how a blacksmith crafts a blade. The aim of that look was to invite. To lure Elena into a trap, to bait her into humoring them with the response they’d longed to see.
Elena clenched her fist over her chest and bit her lip, but that was all she was willing to give. She recognized Annalise’s scheme, and so, she took a deep breath.
Everyone surrounding her understood her place in society better than she did. Even with the power to cheat death, making a stand at the wrong time, in front of royalty no less, could come with terrible consequences, consequences she couldn’t even fully comprehend herself.
Because, when death itself was off the table, there was no knowing what a bad ending could mean for her.
Thus, she remained quiet in her chair, confident in her inaction being the way forward. She decided to let time flow, with her in silence, for any misplaced word was a potential deliverer of a grim fate.
That was, until she caught sight of a single, falling tear.
The once emotionless girl, only known as Number 9, was trembling. With a hand blocking a gasp from escaping her mouth, Elena stared intensely at her profile. Her left eye, which Elena once thought carried no will, was the starting point for a watery trail, the leaking tear traveling from her eyelid down to her cheek.
Her face otherwise bore little difference from before. But like water in a dam, it didn’t matter how well-contained she kept them. Sooner or later, some droplets of her true emotions had to slip through.
Elena’s heart began thumping loudly. A cold wind washed over her shoulders, a wind that shouldn’t be able to exist inside the warmth of the Palace, but that she, and only she, could nonetheless still feel.
Her sight began rapidly shifting back-and-forth, between the soft face of the girl holding back her tears, and the devilish ones full of scorn who were responsible.
Si yo fuera como ellas…
A line from an old musical randomly began playing on Elena’s mind, encapsulating her current state of mind.
She didn’t have much to be proud of. Not much she’d accomplished, neither here nor in her old world.
But when taking even a mere glance at the smug, haughty faces of Annalise and her goons, she remembered one crucial thing.
No matter how much of a failure she was… no matter how she looked, no matter how she spoke….
There would always remain one aspect of herself she would always wear with pride.
She wasn’t like them.
“Your Highness!” Elena said, standing up with a loud stomp of her foot. “This girl right here, she hasn’t done anything wrong!”
Elena was uncertain of the veracity of her statement, but she nevertheless fearlessly spoke, looking at Charles dead in the eyes with her back straight and her fist raised.
“You filthy marked, you dare make a liar out of me?” Annalise said in response.
Stroking his chin, Charles said, “Hmm, if there’s some sort of misunderstanding here, maybe it’s better to let this go.”
Hearing Charles’ words, Annalise’s face became pale like a ghost. With raised eyebrows, she said, “Your Highness, you take this Marked’s words over mine? Over those of your fiancée’s?”
“M—My… dear,” Charles answered, with hesitation at uttering the word dear, “It’s not like that. I just think it was a simple mistake on our servant’s part.”
“No, Your Highness,” Elena interrupted, “it was no mistake. That woman is attempting to frame this poor girl for something she hasn’t done!” Elena patted Number 9 on the shoulder, who reacted with a curious stare. “She dropped the cake on herself.”
“Preposterous! You dare accuse me, Annalise Dermak, of being capable of such an act of pettiness? Do you not know of my status as a noble maiden?”
Elena smirked. “You are mistaken. It’s precisely because I know of your so-called status that I know you’re capable of such childish antics.”
Elena had barely come to know Annalise as a person, yet remained steadfast in her accusation. This confidence came from her understanding of women like her. The kind to spread gossip about you behind your back. To look down on those without strength, despite their own power being one they were simply born with.
Both of their sights clashed like swords in conflict. Annalise’s eyes began losing their fire, put out by the splash Elena’s words had caused within her. Her pupils began scrambling around in a panic, before placing their hopes on Charles, who remained silent with a dumbfounded look on his face.
Eventually, he’d had enough. “The two of you, halt this nonsense!” he said, raising his voice. This’d been the first time he seemed willing to speak using his authority as a prince. “Annalise, please return home. I’ll arrange a carriage for you and your friends.”
“Hmph” Annalise crossed her arms, then looked away.
“As for you…” He carried on, now looking at Elena.
Oh, shit.
His piercing green eyes washed over her body, her face turning sour.
She’d spoken out of turn, the reverberations of which she’d cast aside in her mind. Whereas before she was fearful of the kind of punishment the young prince could dish out, seeing the distraught face of that beautiful girl had caused her to forget about all that and act rashly.
Now, those terrible scenarios resurfaced. The reality where she did that which she’d sworn not to do had come greet her.
Thus, she took a breath deep enough to fill her soul, and awaited Charles’ judgment.
Charles let out a sigh, then finished speaking. “...you’ll go to town to pick a better-fitting dress. Thales will escort you. Wait for him here.”
“H—huh?”
Elena was surprised, to say the least, but was certainly not one to complain.
Annalise joined in on her confusion. “Your Highness, will you seriously allow those two disrespectful Marked to walk away scot-free?
“Are you questioning my decision, Annalise?” he asked, frowning, a threat that was unsaid yet present in his voice.
“No, of course not, my Lord,” Annalise responded, a tinge of fear plaguing her voice.
“Then, I think it’s time for all of us to make our retreat.”
Charles stepped out of the room, just as quickly as he’d arrived. Annalise and her goons wasted no time following suit, but before leaving Annalise threw one last piercing, scornful glare at Elena.
Elena, for her part, simply pulled her tongue out.
It was a crude response, but the only one fitting for the situation.
Elena was not like them. She was not one to play games with feelings. She had no desire to hide her hatred of their kind under constructed masks. If they asked her, she’d state bluntly that she hated them.
It was that what differenced the two of them, the rift that existed between their lifestyles.
A rift she was proud existed.
Despite the mocking gesture, Annalise swallowed any further nasty words she might want to spit out. She and her trio of evil dolls abandoned the room in quiet, delicate steps, playing up their image of glamorous nobles. Elena and Number 9 were left alone, the tranquility of the room having returned after minutes of arguments.
“Well, I guess I just gotta sit here and wait for knight-daddy to come pick me up,” Elena spoke to herself, forgetful of the fact that she wasn’t alone. Once she remembered Number 9 was standing beside her, her face turned blank. “Uhmm… forget you heard—”
“Cordelia.”
“—that. Wait, what did you say?”
“Cordelia. My name is… Cordelia.”
It was a sound so faint as to qualify as a whisper. Yet that voice impaled Elena’s ears with force.
Number 9—no, Cordelia, had spoken aiming her mouth and eyes toward a wall, yet it was clear her words were directed at nobody except for Elena. They were her answer to the question Elena had posed before, to which she at first had no answer to give.
A warm smile drew itself across Elena’s face. “Cor…delia.” It was a beautiful name befitting of a beautiful girl. Elena brought her fingers to Cordelia’s shoulder, before trying to give her feelings voice. “What a wonderful name.”
She couldn’t say for sure what factor had allowed Cordelia to say her own name that didn’t exist on their first meeting, but she had a theory— perhaps, it was better to call it a hope.
—She hoped it was her action what had brought that change in this girl.
Cordelia turned her body and raised her head. Her sight clashed with that of Elena’s. Her deep, blue eyes were devoid of emotion, but proved no less enticing. Elena felt the depth of the sea swallow her as she lost herself within their beauty, the surrounding world vanishing from vision.
It’d been making her voice heard what’d brought her that reward.
She didn’t know it at the time. But by making that careless stand in the name of that girl, she’d won the right to indulge in the sight of those eyes.
But it ran deeper than that.
By standing up against injustice, she’d taken the first step in a long road toward being herself. The version of her she’d always yearned to be.
She didn’t know it at the time.
—But it was at that moment, that her story truly began.