APIBAGS Chapter 67

Besides—the diary was written in first person, so there were no names in it. Not like Evangeline's mother wrote 'AMARANTH' on the cover!

"Are you going to keep acting like this?"

"Don't worry, Father. I'll behave myself at the palace, just as you asked."

The Count had been on the verge of saying something. He closed his mouth.

"You should be careful too. Shouldn't you at least perform the part of a father worried about his memory-afflicted, delicate daughter?"

If you ask me, the Count is the bigger problem. He has zero interest in his own daughter, so he just leaves the rumors alone. Which means the false ones get to spread their wings unchecked—even her own father cut her off, they say. That's the kind of villainess she is, you know. The gossip practically writes itself.

The Count went quiet—struck dead center.

"I'll take my leave, then."

There was nothing more to discuss, and Misha had asked me to arrive early for debutante preparations. Time to go.

I regretted it the moment I walked back in.

"You're late!"

Misha was waiting for me with eyes like lit coals.

I was seized the instant I stepped through the door and manhandled head to toe. That is literally the only word for it. Since transmigrating into Evangeline's body—no one has ever pawed at me like this. First time for everything. The only physical contact I'd had with the male lead himself was holding hands and a formal hand-kiss. They poured so much scented oil into the massage that I'd come out the other end smelling like a flower garden.

Hair and makeup were completed under Misha's supervision with Daisy and Henna both attached to me at once. Kanna had been banished to a corner to take up space—apparently her hands aren't suited for this kind of work.

My hair had gold and silver powder worked through it, the curls drawn out and set in place, and yet at a touch it dissolved softly—not a clump in sight. Was this what it meant to be in the hands of an artisan?

The dress had been altered slightly since the last fitting. I'd thought it was finished, but trying it on again revealed more to adjust. Something like final_v5_ACTUAL_FINAL, basically.

Some of the revisions were impossible to spot without being told, but one change was immediately visible: the dress now had rubies on it. Not just rubies—rubies carved into the shape of flowers. Apparently the fashion at debutantes these days had moved away from carrying a bouquet in favor of wearing floral ornaments as a corsage or hairpiece.

"Fresh flowers are especially popular right now."

They'd wilt if pinned for too long, of course, so some young ladies apparently brought a dedicated maid just to swap them out throughout the evening.

"Fresh flowers would certainly suit the Young Lady, but since she's a bit more—mature—than the other debutantes this season, I thought it would be better to set her apart."

Mature. The polite way of saying she was older. Most girls debut at around sixteen. Evangeline was four years past that. Like a graduate student sitting in on an undergraduate seminar. No fresh flowers, then.

Fortunately, the ruby-carved blooms suited her far better than anything living. The deep red echoed her eye color, a little. I was admiring them when Misha smiled at me with that particular expression and winked.

"Oh, and those jewels—they weren't from me. Gabriel arranged them."

Gabriel?

The ornaments suddenly felt much heavier. I mean—him? The one I've been running a fish pond on? Going and doing this? Of all the—it's embarrassing. Some nerve, making me feel like this…

The white lace gloves went on last, and the preparations were complete. The gloves were strangely warm—Kanna, it turned out, had been holding them the whole time to keep them heated.

"It's raining outside," she said, going a little pink. "What if you get cold and catch something?"

"Lady Rohanson catching a cold?" Misha blinked.

"Yes! She's delicate."

"Ah…. Kanna, you really do worry about her so much."

Misha was moved. My shoulders did something embarrassing on their own.

Outside it was nothing but storm clouds, but something in my chest felt like sunlight pouring down. My mouth kept trying to curl up into a smile and I had to keep yanking it back—and only barely managed to—before I got the thank-you out.

"Thank you."

"Not at all! Young Lady, you look so beautiful!"

It was true. After all this preparation, she was outrageously beautiful. The waves of her hair looked like they'd been spun from silver wire, and with a little more color in her lips and cheeks than usual, she looked like a living doll. Right. A romance-fantasy villainess needed this level of impact. The kind of face that made female leads fall for her and male leads turn completely face-struck.

Misha looked me over one final time, satisfied, and closed her eyes. And I mean that not as description—she actually swayed.

"I have… no regrets left in this world…."

"What? Miss Artemisia? Someone catch her!"

Daisy barely managed to grab her as she went down. Had she actually fainted? I leaned in to check. From somewhere inside the collapsed figure came the small, steady rhythm of snoring.

"I think she was too tired and just—fell asleep."

She'd been awake so long she'd fallen asleep standing up. It had been a rush commission, and she'd been running on no rest. I'd have to give her a proper bonus for this.

"We can't leave her here. Misha needs to be moved to a room."

"Yes, my lady."

Henna and Daisy each took a side to support her. Misha was taller than both of them, so her feet dragged along the floor. There had to be a better way to do this.

"A body's coming out of the Young Lady's room—!"

"She's still alive."

The door was apparently still open, because I could hear someone outside reacting and Henna correcting them. Henna—saying still alive implies she'll eventually die. Which—yes, all people die eventually, but that's not quite the implication you want right now.

"She was overtired and fell asleep, so would someone help carry her to a room?"

"Y-yes, of course…."

Too difficult for just two people, so they'd had to ask the household staff. By tomorrow there would probably be another rumor that I'd made someone faint. Technically I'd exhausted her making my dress, so the rumor wouldn't be entirely wrong.

And so another entry was added to the collection. I massaged my forehead, and when Daisy and Henna returned from the handoff, I settled in to wait. Misha was asleep, preparations were done. Time to leave.

"Lady Evangeline, shall we leave right now?"

"When does the banquet start?"

"At eight—so there's still about three hours."

"Is there? Then... would you ask about the Count's departure time?"

I'd never been to a banquet before and genuinely didn't know when you were supposed to arrive. Was I meant to go early and mingle first? The thought of it made me reach for some kind of mental reference—main characters made fashionably late entrances.

I was earnestly running through romance fantasy clichés when a maid spoke up with evident hesitation.

"Lady Evangeline—the Count has already... departed, it seems."

What?

Preparations didn't even take that long—and he left without waiting? Without a word? The banquet hasn't even started yet—he just left, like that? The disloyalty. The pettiness. Not that I had any intention of sharing a carriage with him anyway. I was annoyed. Pointlessly.

Whatever. I'll just go late, then. There was still no word from Lady Toten, which meant Bishop Marik would likely end up as my chaperone—arriving early would just mean sitting there tense in front of an exorcist.

To avoid Marik for as long as possible, I sat on the floor and played hand games with Pudding. Then Jelly, who had been looking out the window, called out to me.

"Master."

Master. That again. Ever since he used it to tease me in front of Raphaela, Jelly had stuck with it and showed no signs of stopping. I'd told him to just call me Evangeline, but he refused absolutely.

"Someone's coming."

"Someone?"

There was no one I was expecting, and in this rain. Could it be Gabriel?

I went to stand beside Jelly and looked out. All I could see were curtains of rain. Then again, Jelly was a beastfolk—his eyesight was considerably sharper than mine. Staring hard in the direction he was looking, I waited, and eventually a shape swam into view and a horse materialized out of the downpour. Not Gabriel's, though. Gabriel's horse is a black thoroughbred—magnificent, like its rider.

A figure in a rain-soaked cloak swung down from the horse. The front gate was closed, so they didn't come in—just stood outside.

"I don't recognize the scent. But they seem to want you, master. Should I bring them?"

The last time Jelly had taken care of a surveillance tail on his own authority and gotten lectured for it, he'd apparently learned something—he was watching my expression and actually asking this time. I nodded, and Jelly perked up and began wagging his tail with evident enthusiasm. This was starting to feel very much like a game of fetch. Wait—is Jelly actually not a wolf but a dog?

"Carefully. Don't hurt them."

I added conditions in haste, concerned he might bring them back with one limb at an unusual angle. If it wasn't someone watching me in secret, they wouldn't have stepped out of the rain like that. More likely a knight sent by Gabriel, or simply a visitor.

"Sure…."

Jelly stretched the word out with pointed reluctance, then vanished, and reappeared—before I had blinked—directly in front of me with the cloaked figure in tow.

No—Jelly! When I said bring them, I meant go downstairs and properly receive them—not conjure yourself across space, skip every step in between, and materialize them right here in my room like a military summons! Just tattoo 'MAGE' on your forehead and walk around the city already, why don't you!

"I brought them in one piece, just as you said."

"That is not what I—fine. Good work, Jelly."

What more could I expect at this point. I pushed down the headache and focused on the unidentified person in the rain-soaked cloak. They were absolutely drenched—however long they'd been riding in this. Jelly had brought them from the outside and they'd arrived here without a drop of time between.

"Rohanson's Young Lady…."

"Marchioness Toten?"

I lifted the hood carefully.

The last face I had expected to see. Why was Marchioness Toten appearing now, of all times—no contact for all this while, and then a dramatic entrance in the final moments before the banquet? What was this—a film shoot? Well—it was a romance fantasy, so dramatic entrances were arguably on-brand.

The Marchioness had ridden here in the rain. A cloak can only do so much in a downpour, and the distance from the Toten estate was considerable. Her color was terrible.

She had been murmuring something to herself, continuous and quiet. When I called out to her, she seemed to surface—looked around, confused—and then her eyes went wide.

"What—I was just—I was outside, just now—"