Sitting on the fluffiest bed she's ever had and wearing a silk nightgown she's never slept in before, Monica flipped through the pages of her novel, feeling uncomfortable with the intense stares she was receiving.
After reaching the last page of the book, Monica let out a breath and rubbed her tired eyes.
At that moment, Isabelle, who had been sitting by the bedside the whole time, spoke up with a gleam in her eye.
"What did you think? Marrone Fillil's masterpiece, "The White Rose Maiden Sleeps in the Garden!"
Monica was at a loss for words to reply, letting her gaze wander around.
"T-The phrasing is… rather unique, isn't it?"
"Indeed, Marrone Fillil uses poetic language very beautifully, and above all, her descriptions of the scenes and the heroine's psychology are wonderful. The story is superb, too. The parting scene in the third chapter is unforgettable, and you can't read it without shedding tears."
Monica, who had read that very third chapter without tears, felt very sorry for her.
Monica, who has not been used to reading stories since her childhood, has difficulty understanding this kind of unique expression in fictional stories.
For example, white skin as smooth as white porcelain, black hair like melted ebony dusted with jewels, and lips as fresh as wild strawberries, all of which would be fine with just ‘white skin, black hair, and red lips.'
But still, she could not bring herself to deny what was recommended to her, so she smiled vaguely while giving some feedback.
Then Isabelle's chambermaid, Agatha, spoke softly to her.
"My lady, it is almost time for dinner."
"Oh my, it's already time for dinner. Well then, Big Sister Monica, I will be leaving for the dining hall in a little while. I'll have Agatha prepare a meal for you."
As she thanked her, Monica let out a sigh of relief.
After getting drugged by Miss Caroline and sent to the infirmary, Monica took a few days off from class to recuperate in Isabelle's room.
Monica didn't mind being in the attic, but Isabelle had already brought a bed into her room for her, so she could not refuse.
To be honest, Monica, who was not used to living with other people, couldn't help but feel restless, but her chambermaid, Agatha, dealt with the situation skillfully. Whenever Isabelle got too excited, Agatha would subtly correct her.
Even now, Agatha ushered Isabelle into the dining room and brought Monica a tray with food on it. Orıginal content can be found at NoveIꜰire.net
"I'll leave your meal over here. Please ring this bell when you are done."
Agatha smiled, bowed, and left the room.
She appreciated the concern, knowing that Monica was not used to eating in a public place.
Monica climbed out of bed and sat down in a chair. On the table were soft bread, cheese, sauteed fish, potage, and sweetened apples.
Agatha had gone to the trouble of preparing all of them for Monica in the dining room. Grateful for Isabelle's and Agatha's thoughtfulness, Monica sliced a piece of bread and brought it to her mouth. The fluffy white bread was soft with a slight sweetness.
Such soft bread was not something she could eat very often in the mountains. The one Monica was eating at the cabin was black bread hard as a stone. It was delicious when eaten with cheese, though.
As she chewed on the bread and reminisced about her life in the cabin, she heard the sound of scratchings on the window. Looking over, it was actually Nero scratching at the window.
Monica stood up and opened the window, allowing Nero to easily enter the room before he twitch his nose.
"I have some fish. You want some?"
"I don't like fish, you know. I prefer meat. I like birds, especially birds."
As soon as Nero jumped up on the desk and saw that there was no meat, he frowned in frustration and said, "These cheese will do for now."
Once she placed a small plate of cheese in front of Nero, he took a bite of the cheese, seeming to really like the taste.
"It's so good. Now if we could only get some meat, it would be perfect. Hey, I think I'll go hunting again tonight."
"After all the fuss over the bird bone stuck in your throat?"
"That was just a youthful indiscretion. Wise creatures grow day by day by repeating mistakes like that."
Nero nodded plausibly and wagged his tail when he noticed that there was a novel on Monica's bedside table.
"It's unusual for you to read a novel… oh, I get it. The ‘orange rolls' recommended it to you, didn't she?"
"You're being rude to Lady Isabelle."
The orange rolls must be referring to Isabelle's hair. Nero basically never tried to remember people's names.
Despite Monica's protests, Nero was still gazing at the cover of the novel as he bit into a piece of cheese.
"That's a writer I don't know. Hey, was that novel interesting?"
Looking at Nero's curious eyes, Monica tore off a piece of bread as she ruminated on the story she had just finished reading.
"…There was a man and a woman."
"…a lot of things happened."
"…they're getting married."
Nero's tail stopped moving and he stared up at Monica.
"I understand now that you weren't ooooone bit impressed by that novel. But, that ‘a lot of things happened' part is what's important. You've omitted hundreds of thousands of words."
"Because I really didn't know any of this…"
That novel told the story of the unfortunate heroine who meets a young nobleman by a rose tree and falls in love with him at first sight. However, the young man had a fiancee. When his fiancee refuses to acknowledge the breakup of the engagement, she schemes to get rid of the heroine, but the two overcome their ordeal and end up together.
However, Monica can't understand why the heroine and the young nobleman fell in love, in the first place. The young man had a fiancee, so the fiancee had every right to be furious.
"…how could she become so infatuated over someone ?"
The characters in the story were infatuated with the other person as if they were drowning. They were madly in love with each other. They want to love and be loved. They want to choose or want to be chosen…no matter how much it costs them.
This seemed somewhat frightening to Monica.
"…How can someone expect so much… from another person?"
Nero's tail wagged in response to the muttering, and he looked up at Monica with golden eyes.
"I guess you're too young to understand. Love is like, when you fall, your heart skips a beat. Like, a zap."
Monica stared at Nero, who said with a knowing look on his face.
"…so, do you know what "love" is, Nero?"
"Of course I am. I like females with sexy tails, by the way."
"I can't lust after a female without a tail, so you're out of my scope. So don't worry."
It was a world that Monica, who had no tail, could not understand.
Maybe, just like Monica herself didn't have a tail, she didn't have any interest in love in the first place.
Satisfied with that conclusion, Monica tore off a piece of bread and stuffed it into her mouth.
It's a matter of not knowing what love is. The timid Monica can't hope for anyone or anything. She can't expect anything. What she wanted madly was just a number that would never betray her.