Chapter 3:The Guest Who wasn't welcomed
After nearly falling asleep to my mother's song, I awoke in her embrace while watching my elder sister swing her sword, the sunlight catching the blade as it sliced the air.
After a while, the sun began to set, and though I didn't understand how time worked in this world, I noticed that I had been dozing in my mother's arms for a while.
While my sister lay down on the grass, napping, a maid emerged from the manor—the red-haired one from this morning.
She approached my mother, gently touched her shoulder, and greeted her respectfully, then spoke calmly about something I couldn't understand. I looked at them, wondering what had been said.
She informed her of something in a calm tone while I stared at both of them, wondering what she had just said.
One thing I desperately wanted to learn was the language of this world. "I'm so tired of just watching," I muttered to myself.
After tapping my sister on the back to wake her, the other maid hurried outside to clean the table, gather the glasses, and eventually carry me back to my mother in the manor.
I saw the man who had entered the manor that morning sitting at the large dining table. When he noticed us, he didn't speak—he lifted a hand slightly, curling his fingers once. The maid obeyed immediately and brought me to him.
He carried me on his lap while eating, and shortly after, a butler arrived with a stack of papers, a quill, and ink. He can't seriously plan to work while eating, can he? I wondered. But that's exactly what he did: one hand held his fork, the other the quill, signing papers and shifting documents with precise, unbroken movements. I half-expected ink or food to spill, but not a drop fell.
Curious, I peeked at his signature. It was rough—far less dignified than I expected, more like a monkey trying to trace fancy letters. I was disappointed to think that a wealthy man's signature looked cool.
Shortly after, another butler approached with urgent news. Instantly, his quill fell from his hand. Life seemed to drain from him, and for a moment, he almost toppled from the chair.
As the butler spoke, movement spread through the manor.
Several maids rushed toward a room near the entrance—one I hadn't paid much attention to before.
It was different.
Elegant furniture arranged with care. A large fireplace at the center. Paintings lined the walls, each one looking far too expensive to touch. Lanterns hung in quiet symmetry, casting a soft glow over everything.
The maids moved quickly—dusting, adjusting, and wiping—as if even the smallest flaw would be unacceptable.
I'd seen something like this before.
Not here.
Somewhere else.
A memory surfaced—old scenes, formal visits, noble guests.
A room meant to receive people who mattered.
Ah, the drawing room.
My gaze shifted back to him.
His expression hadn't recovered.
Whoever was coming—
It wasn't someone he wanted to see.
As the maids began their hurried work, the one holding me suddenly turned and carried me away.
Back to the nursery.
I didn't like that I had been carried off again.
At first, it was just a small sound—then it grew.
I began to cry.
This time, I knew exactly why.
A short nap
Being carried around endlessly…
And now this?
Anyone would be annoyed.
By the time we reached the nursery, I had already decided I didn't approve of this treatment.
But my protests meant nothing.
Another bath followed.
Warm water. Gentle hands. Soft cloth.
I had to admit—it was… nice.
Still, that didn't mean I forgave them.
Afterward, they dressed me.
Layers of soft fabric were placed over me—far more elaborate than anything I had worn before.
A light inner garment, then something smoother, finer… and finally an outer piece decorated with delicate embroidery. The sleeves were slightly puffed, the collar neat, almost suffocatingly proper.
Too tight.
Not my style.
I shifted slightly, uncomfortable.
Yeah… I don't like this.
This time, instead of taking me back upstairs, I was carried down.
And that's when I saw them.
My sister stood there first.
For a moment… I didn't recognize her.
Gone was the rough girl who swung swords without care.
In her place stood someone… refined.
Her clothes were elegant and fitted perfectly, with subtle patterns woven into the fabric. Her hair had been properly arranged, and though she still carried that same energy—
She looked like someone of status.
Like she belonged in this kind of moment.
And behind her—
My mother.
She was breathtaking.
Even more than before.
Her dress flowed softly, the fabric light yet rich, complementing her presence effortlessly. Every detail was precise and deliberate—nothing out of place.
But…
If you looked closely—
Just a little—
You could see it.
Her cheeks had sunk in slightly.
A faint sign of weakness.
Hidden beneath careful makeup.
She's pushing herself again.
For a brief moment, I forgot everything else.
I watched them.
Then
From outside
The sound of horses.
Not one.
Several.
Hooves striking the ground in a steady rhythm.
Carriages.
Approaching.
The atmosphere changed instantly.
Even without understanding a single word
I could feel it.
They had arrived.
As the sound of hooves slowed down.
For a brief moment
No one moved.
Even the maids who had been rushing just moments ago all stood still, lined nearly along the sides like statues along the entrance.
As soon as the figure and different shadows approached the door.
As the door hands turned and the figure entered the manor, accompanied by what appeared to be three children around 5 years old and a muscular, slender man behind her, all the maids bowed in unison.
As my father approached the guest, I noticed him gripping his upper arm, his nails nearly digging into his skin, while wearing a polite smile. He bowed lightly and took his guest to the drawing room.
While the butler took her and the man's coats and belongings to hang inside the manor.
The man wrapped his coat and handed it to the butler as the woman in front of him approached my father.
She passed him by, as if he were a servant, while glaring at my father with a smile. The air grew cold, and even the maids shuddered.
What finally broke the tension in the air was when the woman's five-year-old kids began giggling as they ran into the manor, while my elder sisters accompanied them to the garden, and then my mother finally made her way down to greet our guests.
As soon as my mother arrived, the guests' attitude changed. She sprinted to her, hugging her and checking her over and over again with a worried expression.
She looked happy to see her. As my father tried to approach her, she gave him a terrifying glare and pointed sharply at him, while approaching him with an angry expression, while grabbing his collar menacingly.
He quietly and gently removed her hands from his collar and bowed his head in anger while his nails dug into his palm enough to nearly break flesh. It looked like he wanted to hit her, but was holding himself back.
After a long scolding, she finally approached the maid. Carrying me, she lifted me into her arms while glaring at my father for a third time. She looked at me. The moment her eyes met mine—
My body moved before I could think.
My chest tightened.
And then I screamed.
And then my mother quickly took me into her arms and started rocking me. Finally, the crying stopped.
After the tension finally relaxed a bit, we all sat down at the dinner table to eat. At the same time, the servant brought out the food. The guest was practically glued to my mother, while I was kept in a stroller at her side.
The tension was becoming suffocating as she stared at him intently.
As the servants brought out the food, their steps were hurried and slightly uneven.
My father glanced at them.
Just once; that was enough.
One of them nearly stumbled, quickly steadying the tray in her hands. Another lowered her head so fast it almost looked painful.
Late.
They were late.
No one said it.
But everyone knew.
The plates were carefully set down one after another.
No one touched their food immediately.
For a while, the only sound was the faint clink of cutlery.
Even that felt loud.
My father picked up his knife and fork as he cut into the meat with steady movements, but he didn't eat.
Across from him
She didn't even look his way.
Her attention was on my mother.
Leaning slightly closer.
Watching her carefully.
Like she was trying to notice something others couldn't.
My mother smiled as she always did. calmly
But slower.
Just a little.
Her hand moved toward her cup—
And stopped.
Not on its own.
The woman had caught her wrist.
Firmly.
The movement was small.
But the entire table felt it.
My father's hand paused.
The servants froze where they stood.
She turned my mother's wrist slightly, her eyes narrowing just a fraction.
Still smiling.
But not the same smile as before.
My mother let out a soft laugh, trying to pull her hand back.
Slowly.
Carefully.
But she didn't let go.
Her fingers tightened just a little more.
That was when it showed.
Just for a moment—
My mother's smile broke.
It was small.
Almost nothing.
But it was there.
My father stood.
The chair shifted against the floor with a quiet scrape.
No one looked at him directly.
But everyone noticed.
His hands were at his sides now.
Still.
For a second, it felt like something would happen.
Then—
A small laugh cut through the silence.
One of the children.
Unbothered.
While playing with his food, a spoon slipped from his hand and hit the floor.
The sound was sharp.
She immediately let go.
Just like that.
As if nothing had happened.
My mother pulled her hand back immediately, folding it into her dress.
Her smile returned.
Perfect again.
My father sat down no one spoke.
The meal continued.
But it didn't feel the same.
It felt tighter.
Like the air had gotten heavier.
Harder to breathe.
I shifted slightly where I was, my eyes moving between them.
I didn't understand what was happening.
But I could feel it.
Something was wrong.
Then—
She moved again.
This time, her gaze shifted.
Not to my father.
Not to my mother.
To my sister.
Who had been watching the entire time, quietly.
Their eyes met.
Neither of them looked away.
One of her children stood.
The smallest one.
Still holding a wooden stick.
He walked forward without hesitation, stopping in front of my sister.
Then he raised it.
Pointing it at her, my sister laughed.
Like it was a joke.
My sister tilted her head slightly.
Then she stood.
She reached for the wooden sword beside her chair.
Her grip tightened around it.
The boy smiled.
So did she.
But it didn't feel like play.
From the side—
I saw her again.
Watching.
That same small smile on her face.
Like this was what she wanted.
My father didn't move.
Didn't speak.
He just watched.
My mother
She looked between them.
For a moment, she didn't speak.
Then she smiled again and quickly took away my sister's sword and the young boy's stick.
She pulled them back without a word. The children winced but didn't resist.
As we finished our meal, the guest's husband finally approached my parents. He had been silent all this while, so I wondered what he intended to do. Immediately after approaching my dad, they shook hands, and both went to the drawing room to give the ladies some space.
Internally, I said, "Please take me with you." I am tired of this tension; only giggles came out of my lips. As the two ladies sat together, they began talking for hours, while my sister and the kids went to play in the garden. After a while, I fell asleep. By the time I woke up, the guests had left.
"As they prepared to leave, the butler brought their belongings." I wondered who that woman was anyway, but in that quiet moment, the mark burned against my skin.
You've been silent all day. What changed?