The path Anastasia took was not a trail used by people, but one worn by the beasts of the forest. Because of this, the thorns of the scrub brush, which grew as high as a person’s chest, caught on her clothes.
*Rip.*
The sound of thin, worn fabric snagging on thorns and tearing echoed, but she had no mind to pay it any heed. Throughout her run, the rough leaves and thorns of the brush dug into the layers of clothes she wore, leaving small scratches on her exposed hands and face.
After running for quite some time, she spotted the place she had been searching for among the trees. It was a small, ruined chapel. When Anastasia had first discovered this place, the forest keeper working at the time had told her that it had been in the forest long before the Edenhurst estate was ever built.
Anastasia climbed over a pile of bricks covered in wild rose vines and dashed into the half-standing chapel. She curled her body up and hid beneath a stone bench covered in moss.
Because she had run so frantically, her breath tasted of bile. She needed to steady her breathing, but Anastasia clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. It was the one thing she was most confident in. As she forcibly suppressed her heaving chest, which demanded deeper breaths, she began to choke, and her vision blurred with yellow spots. Even so, Anastasia did not let go of the hand covering her mouth.
*Must not be caught. Must not make a sound. If I do, they will only hate me more... and I will truly be kicked out of this place...*
Her trembling body swallowed the terror. For a very long time. Alone.
Anastasia’s consciousness slowly sank into the darkness.
***
When Anastasia opened her eyes again, the position of the sun had shifted significantly. The gradually slanting sunlight struck the stained glass of the half-ruined chapel. The light, filtering through the thick glass, cast the faded and cracked contents of the Bible onto the stone floor.
Anastasia blinked slowly, staring at the brilliantly shining stained glass, before remembering what had happened. The stream. The stranger.
*Whoosh.*
The leaves swayed in the wind of the setting sun, which was rapidly losing its warmth. There was no strange sound amidst that rustling. Anastasia slowly exhaled, accepting the relief that came from a space familiar to her. No one had followed her. This place, too, had not been discovered.
This abandoned land was the only space within Edenhurst that Anastasia could call her own. Although she had a room in the basement of the mansion, it was often piled with items that wouldn't fit in the storage rooms, and she was frequently ordered to move to different storage rooms, so it was hard for her to think of it as her own room. She was merely staying there for a while, just like the other cargo.
Confirming that everything was the same as yesterday, Anastasia finally thought about the man.
'Who could he have been?'
The villagers nearby knew well that this was the Edenhurst estate, so they did not dare set foot here. That was why, in the five years she had been frequenting the forest, she had never once encountered a villager. He was certainly not from the village.
Anastasia recalled the blue eyes that had stared straight at her, then shook her head. What did it matter to her who he was? He was someone she would never meet again, anyway.
The Edenhurst estate was not far away, though it was hard to see because of the forest. He must have wandered the surroundings and found the mansion. Therefore, she could just spend her quiet, peaceful, and unchanging daily life here tomorrow, just as she always did.
While she was lost in thought, the sky rapidly changed color. Darkness settled quickly over the forest. Anastasia straightened her crumpled hat and clothes. Her heart grew heavy as she saw the hem of her dress, torn and flapping from the thorns.
'I don't have many clothes left now.'
She looked at her body, layered in multiple garments, with resentful eyes. As she took a deep breath, she felt a tight, suffocating pressure in her chest. She had thought her growth had stopped since there had been no particular changes over the past few years, so why was she growing so much this year? At this rate, she wouldn't be able to wear these clothes either.
If she were lucky, Catherine might toss her a discarded garment. But she could not blindly wait for luck that might never come. Thinking that she might secretly pick up a maid's uniform if one were thrown out as rags, Anastasia stood up. The moment she took a step, a throbbing pain shot through the sole of her foot.
She lowered her gaze to see dried blood staining her white feet here and there. Anastasia bent at the waist to examine her foot. She saw a jagged wound on the sole. How could she not have felt the pain properly until just a moment ago in this state? Just as she was worrying about how long it would take for the wound to heal, Anastasia realized an important fact.
'It's gone!'
Even if they were loose, she wouldn't have been hurt like this if she had been wearing her shoes while running. Where on earth did her shoes go? Did they slip off while she was running? Then, she remembered the fact that she had taken her shoes off along with her hat and left them by the stream.
"No..."
That was the only pair of shoes she had left.
Anastasia limped as she moved. As her foot touched the ground, the wound tore open and began to bleed again. Seeing that, Anastasia’s face turned even paler.
Because she wore many layers of skirts, no one would see her feet. But if blood stained them like this, and if she left smudges on the mansion floor or carpets, the servants would notice immediately. And what would happen if that story reached the head maid and then the Countess?
Just imagining it made the blood drain from her body. Anastasia hurried toward the place where she had left her shoes. In the meantime, the wound on her foot tore open even further. Hearing the sound of the trickling stream, Anastasia stopped for a moment.
'He must have left, right?'
There was no way the man she met in the morning would still be there at this hour as the sun was setting. Even so, Anastasia did not dare to go near the stream for fear of what she would do if he were still there. Meanwhile, darkness began to slowly blanket the forest. In the end, Anastasia had to summon her courage.
Approaching the spot where she had been as silently as possible, Anastasia felt relieved. Naturally, the man was not there.
"Ah..."
The moment she realized that fact, a long sigh escaped her lips. Anastasia was startled and clamped her mouth shut. This was not a sigh of relief. This was...
'Am I disappointed?'
That the man was not in this spot?
She had run away like a madwoman, terrified the moment he reached out his hand, only to come back and feel disappointed that he was gone. Anastasia could not understand herself for such contradictory behavior.
People were still scary. Men, even more so. But why was she disappointed?
Anastasia looked at the spot where the man had been standing. His figure had vanished, but the blue eyes that had looked at her remained vividly in her memory. A gaze without contempt. That gaze, which she had encountered for the first time, remained fresh in Anastasia’s memory.
'They were beautiful.'
Feeling the joy of having one more beautiful thing to remember, Anastasia searched for her shoes. Fortunately, the shoes were right where she had left them. But...
"Uh...?"
Anastasia picked up the shoes in confusion.
There was only one shoe, when there should have been two.
***
"Where have you been without a word!"
As soon as Mikhail entered the inn, a man wearing glasses shouted from the second-floor stairs. At the loud, ear-piercing sound, Mikhail frowned and climbed the stairs.
"If you shout any louder, the whole village will hear you. Try a little harder, Igor."
Igor, who had been about to shout, "Lord Mikhail!", realized that the people on the first floor of the inn were paying attention to him and Mikhail, so he shook his head and turned away. In the meantime, Mikhail entered the room where he was staying.
He hadn't expected much since it was a rural inn, but the inn was better than he had thought. The intricately carved and fitted wooden decorations on the ceiling. The silk wallpaper, which was a bit faded but undoubtedly a high-quality item, the delicately embroidered bedding, and the mahogany furniture that was clearly made by a master craftsman. It was not far behind the hotels in the capital or Sokolov. If there was a drawback, it was that everything was old, but perhaps because the innkeeper was quite delicate and diligent, all the items were well-maintained enough that one wouldn't pay much attention to that flaw.
'That means it was a place that was quite successful in the past.'
Perhaps those who were heading to the Edenhurst estate in the past had stayed here. Even though that place was now falling into ruin.
Mikhail sat on the sofa and rested his long legs on a stool without bothering to voice his thoughts. Mud and stuck-on leaves fell from his shoes.
Igor, who had followed Mikhail inside, only called his name after closing the door.
"Where on earth have you been, Lord Mikhail? I searched the entire village looking for you."
"I went to the Edenhurst estate."
"Why did you go there separately when we are going to visit soon? More importantly, why did you go alone! This isn't Sokolov! What would you have done if you had run into people sent by the Empress Dowager?"
"What would I do? I'd just kill them."
At Mikhail’s indifferent reply, Igor shut his mouth. He knew better than anyone that those words were not a joke.
Igor looked at his superior, who was leaning deep into the sofa with an expression that suggested everything was a bother.
Mikhail Sokolov.
He was a man who bore the name of Sokolov, the second wealthiest city in the Novgod Empire, following the capital, Borok.
In the Novgod language, "Sokolov" meant falcon. That the city of Sokolov—once a small port town teeming with sea falcons—could grow into such a prosperous harbor so rapidly was entirely due to Mikhail. Of course, even if someone else had laid the foundation, the city would never have reached its current scale without him.
Those who met Mikhail for the first time were often taken aback by the fact that the famous Mikhail Sokolov was a young man of only twenty-eight, and then shocked by how much he resembled Count Vorontsov. In truth, the latter was not all that surprising. He was, after all, the child born to a woman the Count had bedded while intoxicated.
‘Though their talents seem entirely different.’
Igor recalled the former Count Vorontsov, who was said to be waiting for his death in a small hospital in the capital after squandering the family fortune on gambling and drink.
While the father had been diligently selling off the family assets, the son he had abandoned had been just as diligently building ports, purchasing ships, and expanding his share of Novgod’s trade. Eventually, he had grown into a merchant prince of Novgod, possessing the authority to enter the royal palace at will.
Then, Count Vorontsov began contacting Mikhail incessantly. He sent letters that began with, "My proud son."
The Count did not want to acknowledge Mikhail as his heir or pass on his title; he wanted his money.
Upon receiving his father’s letter, Mikhail had discarded it with an expression devoid of any emotion and issued a command.
"I need you to see to it that a certain Count’s house is wiped out."
That way, the man who called himself his father would stop sending such bothersome letters.
The destruction of the Count’s house had been all too easy. They had fueled the Count’s gambling addiction further, saddling him with insurmountable debt, and declared that if anyone else were to inherit the title, they would be held liable for every penny of that debt. That alone was enough to make others renounce their rights to the succession. Then, they sent a letter to Count Vorontsov: if he voluntarily petitioned the Imperial Palace to dissolve his house, they would ensure he was placed in a hospital where he could spend the rest of his days.
The former Count Vorontsov, unable to even secure bread for his next meal, accepted his son’s offer. And just like that, a Count’s house had vanished.
"What are you staring at?"
"Nothing, sir."
Roused from his thoughts by Mikhail’s voice, Igor picked up the documents he had left on the table to hand them over, but upon seeing what was in Mikhail’s hand, he asked in a tone of disbelief.
"What is that?"
0 Comments