NOMAMWTM Chapter 14

A maid stood before the door.

"The Mistress sent me."

The maid, her brown hair pinned up, bowed her head deeply as she spoke.

She withdrew a letter from her apron and handed it to her.

The Mistress? Her mother-in-law?

Charlotte blinked, accepting it in a daze.

She had saved the madam, certainly, but given Michael's silence on the matter, it seemed she hadn't been caught, and if that was the case, then as it had been until now, unless she ran into the madam directly, there would be no reason to meet or become entangled with her.

Saving her aside, his mood had been consistently low lately, so her impression of the madam wasn't particularly good either.

But a letter?

"Um, thank you."

Charlotte turned over the expensive envelope, sealed with wax, front and back.

She couldn't imagine what might be written inside.

She was about to tear it open when she felt a gaze and lifted her head.

Her eyes met the maid's, who hadn't left yet.

The maid with freckles scattered across her face—she looked somehow familiar, as if they'd crossed paths a few times—was staring at her intently.

"?"

Charlotte blinked, then felt something at her feet and looked down to find Nero there.

"...The rabbit is quite cute."

Had she been looking at Nero on the bed rather than at her?

The maid murmured while gazing at Nero, as if she'd never been staring at Charlotte at all.

Something felt off, but before Charlotte could think it through properly, the maid bowed at the waist, saying she would take her leave, and exited the room.

The door closed with a click.

"...Huh?"

Not long after, Charlotte realized what that sense of wrongness had been.

The maid hadn't been afraid of her.

She hadn't trembled or gone pale.

Which meant she didn't fear Michael either.

She'd assumed every servant in this place feared Michael without exception, but it seemed there was hope after all.

Charlotte's eyes sparkled.

Next time they crossed paths, she'd have to ask for her name.

With that thought, she flopped onto the bed and tore open the letter from Michael's mother.

They were in the same house—if she had something to say, she could have it conveyed or come herself—yet the letter was quite beautifully decorated.

She'd never seen such a pretty letter before, even sprinkled with some kind of glittering powder.

Of course the woman wouldn't like her, given her poor relationship with Michael, but Charlotte found it unexpected as she pulled out the neatly folded paper from inside the envelope.

The paper, embroidered with tidy handwriting, unfolded.

Not long after Charlotte began reading through the letter, her head tilted to one side. Tilt.

The leaves of the vines climbing up the study window drooped and lifted repeatedly, as if drowsy, under the assault of heavy raindrops.

Michael stared blankly at the window filled with gloom, rain falling fiercely outside.

His pale face reflected dimly in the glass was etched with terrible fatigue.

He had reached his limit.

To the point where he could no longer properly maintain the pretense of a kind husband, playing along with her incomprehensible 'game' to avoid provoking the monster's mood.

He drew in a deep breath.

The deaths had stopped.

It had been since that day his mother miraculously rose from her bed.

The deaths that had shaken him more than once a day had suddenly, abruptly stopped.

[diediediediediediediediediediediediediediediediediediedie] [so■■hardcan'tstandithateithateithateithateithateithateithateithateithateithateithateithateithateithateithateithate]

The anomalies still poured curses into his ears.

The ringing against his eardrums had grown worse than before, to the point where he couldn't properly make out what they were saying.

Only the deaths had stopped.

Why would those things that loved human death so much suddenly stop?

Had his magic, which had been holding them back all this time, finally taken effect?

As if.

Michael let out a deflated laugh. Huff.

The possibility that magic would suddenly work on the anomalies now was slim.

The answer was clear.

[shedoesn'tlikeshedoesn'tlikeshedoesn'tlikeshedoesn'tlikeshedoesn'tlikeshedoesn'tlikeshedoesn'tlikeshedoesn'tlikeshedoesn'tlikeshedoesn'tlikeshedoesn'tlikeshedoesn'tlikeshedoesn'tlikeshedoesn'tlikeshedoesn'tlikeshedoesn'tlikeshedoesn'tlikeshedoesn'tlike]

Charlotte.

The white monster coiled in wait.

She must have ordered them to stop.

Even though the deaths he'd longed for so desperately had ceased, Michael couldn't be at peace.

The incomprehensible whims of that distant existence made him flounder in a swamp of anxiety.

His mind was occupied with trying to guess her intentions.

Why had she stopped the deaths?

Did she mean to let them melt into a fleeting peace before plunging them into even greater despair without warning?

Was it to toy with them further?

What was her purpose?

He suspected, and suspected, and suspected again the pit that might be coming, or that might already lie just one step ahead.

Beep—

A faint ringing passed by his ear along with a headache that felt like his skull might split.

Michael let out another bitter laugh.

The beautiful and bewitching monster who had toppled the precarious balance of the estate with a single finger seemed to take pleasure in his state, tormenting him in various other ways as well.

With eyes and a face that transcended humanity by leagues, she acted as a predator might, poking at prey to watch for reactions.

'Has Michael been outside much?'

Asking him if he'd been outside, when he'd been born and raised in Cardium.

'Was there anyone you liked?'

Asking him if there was anyone he liked, when everyone he'd shown even the slightest interest in—except for that faceless girl from childhood who'd been his comfort and salvation—had died and was gone.

'I named him Nero.'

Boldly naming the thing wearing the shell of his dead familiar after his familiar.

'The Mistress asked if she might see the Lady.

'The Mistress wishes to see the Lady... '

'The Mistress...'

How much deeper into despair did she mean to sink him, even making his mother—who didn't quite understand what calamity had descended on this estate while she was ill—plead earnestly for days, saying Charlotte had saved her, begging to please let her meet her.

Making him suspect that even his mother's miraculous recovery might be something placed on the monster's chessboard.

Ah, Charlotte. Charlotte Ethel.

Michael wearily recalled the white woman who today had cut off all the magic power in the gallery where the core managing all the western magic circles of the estate existed.

Had tending to the core in a space shared with her displeased her?

The white woman who had rendered every magic circle in the gallery useless for a brief moment, though he'd quickly restored them.

It was as if she was showing him that if she wished, she could eliminate the magic circles at any time.

The image flashed before his eyes—that otherworldly beautiful woman in the pitch-black darkness, staring without even blinking at the remnants of a woman who had died here once, then turning to look back at him.

Even while engaging in terrible words and actions, her mask of imitating humanity grew more elaborate with each passing day.

She smiled enchantingly, as if genuinely delighted to converse and spend time with him, and sometimes flushed like a fragile, inexperienced woman.

At times she seemed to want to break him completely, while simultaneously—absurdly—appearing to seduce him.

Thinking humans were merely lowly creatures moved by base desires, she kept taking his hand, pressing her body against his, embracing him.

Like a 'married couple.'

It was terrible.

But what was more frightening, more unbelievable, was this.

Had his mind finally been ruined by the despair and death, the responsibility and the heavy burdens on both shoulders?

Had his sanity been completely devoured?

Though this woman who had killed so many made his teeth chatter, occasionally—very occasionally and rarely—no matter what unacceptable thing she did, he felt the urge to kiss the hem of her dress as if looking upon a noble existence he could do nothing about, to beg for mercy, to surrender everything and just let it all go, entrusting it all to her mercy.

And more than that, whether he'd gone mad or not, after ten years of being unable to have contact with anyone, his body responded to that warmth that wasn't even human—occasionally, very occasionally—

Beeep.

At the small sound, Michael's reverie—his eyes having closed at some point—shattered into pieces.

When he slowly opened his eyes, he saw the artifact connected to the outside world, to the Imperial Palace, glowing.

When he didn't respond, the artifact rang out once more, long and insistent.

Beeeeeeeep.

"...What do they want to say now."

Michael muttered quietly with an expressionless face, slumped against his chair.

The Imperial Palace was the only part of the outside world he could communicate with, but separate from that, they weren't trustworthy.

They pretended to offer a helping hand, but in the end they drooled over the bloodline of Cardium, the only remaining family of magicians in this world, and the knowledge sleeping in this estate.

They'd been helpful at times, but they'd caused more trouble than good.

Not enemies but not allies either, and the marriage to the exorcist Charlotte Zelova—which had been the reason 'Charlotte' entered this place—had been the Imperial Palace's scheme to continue the Cardium bloodline regardless of what happened to this estate.

The man on the verge of collapse stared at the artifact for a long while, then, driven by the last thread of rationality that said he couldn't ignore the only window to the outside, rose unsteadily and approached the desk.

Before long, a letter asking if they could send someone—as shameless as it was expensive—was in his hands.

He didn't even have the energy to be annoyed.

For a very long time, he stared blankly at the letter from the Imperial Palace, then barely pulled himself together and left the study.

No matter how much the deaths had subsided, he didn't know when her whim might turn.

He couldn't leave Charlotte's side for long.

However.

"M-Master!"

The moment he came downstairs, the blood drained from Michael's face at the words of the servant who came running.