The Weight of a White Handkerchief

As the golden strands on her left cheek were gently tugged, Stella finally understood where her sister’s hand was going.

Mylian was stroking her hair and ears.

Her palm threaded through the soft, golden waves, finding the small ears hidden within, like nestlings tucked away. Mylian had to admit, her sister’s hair felt incredibly good to the touch.

“Ugh… Sister, what are you suddenly doing?”

Stella was perplexed by being touched repeatedly today. She tentatively asked, yet Mylian’s expression remained as unyielding as an ice sculpture.

“Don’t ask.”

Mylian’s hand lightly pinched her ear. Stella immediately clamped her mouth shut and lowered her head, allowing herself to be manipulated without any means to resist.

Hah, Stella, so you too have a day when you meekly submit, and at my hands, no less.

Mylian rather enjoyed the moment, savoring the sense of superiority and her sister’s utter, unresisting compliance.

Returning to the matter at hand, Mylian eventually released Stella’s ear. She then slowly parted the hair with her palm facing down, gathering a lock and pulling it up to her nose.

Is Sister smelling my hair?

Stella couldn’t fathom what was special about her hair. Could it be that Mylian liked the scent of her shampoo?

“Indeed.”

Mylian spoke as if she had reached a conclusion. Her hands loosened, letting the hair fall, and the golden strands flowed back over Stella’s chest. Her heart began to pound erratically.

My sister’s conclusion has something to do with me, but in what way?

Stella agonized over whether to ask, but she knew the proverb about loose lips. If she upset Mylian again, it would only hasten her demise.

“That’s yours, isn’t it? That white square cloth you left on the table.”

Mylian’s words were a statement of fact, leaving no room for Stella to argue.

A white square cloth? Could it be the one that wrapped the broken photo frame? Did I not put it away?

Stella’s mind raced. She suspected that her other identity might be exposed, and Mylian’s questioning was merely a pronouncement.

No, no, no, calm down.

It’s just a common handkerchief. If I admit it, Sister can’t do anything to me.

Besides, given Della’s frivolous acting, Sister would never believe it was something her own sister could pull off.

Injecting herself with several doses of courage, Stella devised a counter-plan.

“Sister, it is mine.”

“Oh, then why didn’t you wash it and put it in your room? You have germophobia, don’t you?”

“I forgot.”

“Forgot? I think you returned in a hurry from somewhere and didn’t have time to deal with it.”

Mylian deduced this possibility. She suddenly recalled Della from that morning; the handkerchief he had used seemed to be that very color.

Could Della have visited Candace Manor? Is he actually working with Stella? Were my belongings handed over to Stella?

Mylian’s expression grew increasingly grave as she stared into Stella’s eyes.

My sister must be speculating about my relationship with Della, but I only need a few words to muddy the waters.

Stella knew what she had to do. She needed to mislead Mylian, even if it meant inadvertently implicating Della, which would undoubtedly cost her some goodwill.

Sigh, I can’t trick Sister without sacrificing some goodwill. I’m going all out.

“Sister, that cloth was originally a gift I gave to someone else. He just returned it today and borrowed something from me, saying he needed to repair something.”

“Della… he came to you for help?”

Mylian immediately clenched her fists. She felt as if a wooden splinter had pierced her heart—not deep, but intensely uncomfortable.

“Yes, does it concern you, Sister?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Mylian turned away, her back conveying a sense of betrayal. Each step she took was heavy.

Watching Mylian walk away, burdened by her thoughts, Stella breathed a sigh of relief.

Such a small oversight as leaving behind a handkerchief was already dangerous. What else might happen in the future?

Stella couldn’t guarantee she would always be vigilant. If Mylian caught her and stripped away her disguise one day, what kind of treatment would she face?

The sisters’ unpleasant departure stirred Eveming slightly.

“Stella, speaking of your sister’s affairs, um… it concerns me somewhat.”

Eveming brought it up apologetically, but Stella, already aware of the situation, simply raised her hand.

“I generally know.”

“Did Della tell you as well?”

“Yes. I’ve done many excessive things to Sister, and I want to resolve these matters myself.”

Stella reiterated her stance to Eveming: she did not want a third party to intervene and help with the conflict between her and Mylian.

“Can you tell me roughly what these matters are? Or is it confidential?”

“It’s clearly confidential, I’m afraid.”

Stella offered Eveming an apologetic smile. Eveming could only suppress her desire to pry into the sisters’ story.

Mylian left Candace Manor unimpeded.

She found the doorstep where she had sat when the snow fell. As far as her eyes could see, the wet, icy street shimmered with the mottled sunset. Passersby hurried home, leaving dark footprints in the shadowy snow.

How much longer until Della arrives? I have so many questions to ask him.

Mylian frowned, tearing a fallen leaf from the roadside into small pieces. It wasn’t until the nineteenth intact leaf vein was peeled away that her peripheral vision caught a figure in black, trailing the last light of dusk.

It was undoubtedly Della, still clad in a black trench coat.

“Good afternoon, Miss Mylian.”

Stella waved to Mylian in greeting, but Mylian ignored her. She stood up, stretching as if welcoming the morning sun, then her gaze fell upon the silver mask—Della’s distinguishing feature.

“Where is the place you mentioned?”

“This way. It’s a small house, but like a sparrow, it may be small yet possesses all its vital organs.”

Stella, in her Della disguise, took the lead. Her voice was deep, and her golden hair, dyed black, was tied back in a low ponytail.

“Wait, don’t rush off. I still have something to ask you.”

Mylian reached out and pressed Della’s shoulder.

“Please ask, Miss Mylian.”

“Why did you seek help from my sister? You should know that she and I are like fire and water.”

Mylian’s tone was calm, but her hand clenched tightly.

The pressure on his shoulder was somewhat painful, but Stella endured it, letting out a deep sigh.

“Alas, seeking your sister’s help is merely a step in the process. The process isn’t important; the result is. I can help you repair the photo frame and the photographs.”

“No, in my eyes, the process is precisely what’s important! Why did you borrow something from that family! Do you know who threw me out?”

Mylian shouted, wanting Della to understand the depth of her hatred for Stella.

“What do you want me to answer? The items have already been borrowed, so we’re not going to stop repairing them. Don’t be ridiculous. My use of personal favors to help you doesn’t affect your attitude towards Stella.”

Stella articulated her reasoning clearly. She didn’t want to waste any more words with her sister, maintaining Della’s persona perfectly.

However, Mylian gritted her teeth at his words.

“I hate her, don’t you understand? This is tantamount to me accepting help from an enemy.”

“No, you’re quite foolish. You are accepting my help. You owe me something.”

Stella’s tone shifted abruptly, and her finger pointed towards Mylian’s heart. Mylian’s eyes widened instantly.

“I owe you?”

“Precisely. So don’t fret over it, and don’t bother thinking about the sister you dislike.”

Stella lied without a change in her complexion or heart rate. She had fully immersed herself in the role of Della, the outsider, her acting talent flawless.

Mylian was indeed correct; her sister was certainly skilled at acting.