The Weight of a Bow and Bells

Before noon, Edith completed her rounds through the town, visiting five or six households. Afterward, she made her way to the small caravan’s temporary camp.

There, she intended to check on the injured Mathew and the other members of the merchant group.

The caravan, originally twenty-three strong, was now disbanded. Including Ian, only eight members remained. A palpable gloom hung over their small camp as they resolved to sell off their final shipment of goods before parting ways.

Yet, upon seeing Edith, the “Golden Angel,” their faces brightened with welcoming smiles.

Mathew and another young man, both severely wounded, remained in their tents. The five others, whose injuries were less critical, ushered Edith and Daphne into the camp.

Edith methodically inspected their wounds, changed dressings, and re-bandaged them. She worked in silence, offering no superfluous words of comfort. In the Old World, where Greenskins and Beastmen roamed rampant, merchant work was inherently perilous, requiring those who undertook it to be prepared for the worst. As an outsider, her silence was the most fundamental form of respect.

“Thank you, Miss Edith,” the youngest among them finally spoke. “Without you, we would surely have perished there.”

“I was rather overwhelmed then; I hope I didn’t frighten you,” Edith replied, offering a gentle smile.

The boy shook his head vigorously. “It was I who talked too much. Big Brother and the Boss always complain about my chatter. It’s not your fault, Miss Edith.” A wave of soft laughter rippled through the group, finally easing the tension.

“Stay for lunch, please. We’ve stewed some broth as a small token of our gratitude,” Mathew called out, pushing aside the tent flap to reveal half of his body, his upper torso wrapped in bloodied bandages. “Our lives, and Ian’s too, were all given back to us by you. We can never repay you enough.”

“Mr. Mathew, your wound will reopen if you move like that,” Edith sighed softly, pressing a hand to her forehead.

“Boss, quickly, lie down!” a caravan member exclaimed, rushing to gently push him back into the tent.

Edith turned to glance at Daphne, who stood beside her. Daphne responded with a flustered, embarrassed expression.

“Miss Ellenore isn’t feeling well, so we must return to the church,” Edith stated, rising and bowing slightly to the caravan members. “I truly appreciate your invitation, but these were simply my duties. There’s no need for repayment.”

“Such a humbling reply,” Mathew said from inside the tent, a bitter, wry laugh escaping him. “Understood. You two take care.”

They had offered to escort Edith and Daphne back to town, but their offer was politely declined. It wasn’t that Daphne was unsociable; it was simply too difficult to keep the bells from jingling. Despite the compression and restraint of her stockings, even a slightly wider step would cause the bells to ring uncontrollably.

“This won’t do at all. I was planning to properly accept their thanks, but because of your willfulness, I couldn’t enjoy it,” Edith remarked, a hint of displeasure in her tone. She tilted her head towards Daphne. “How shall I punish you now? From now on, you must always wear the bow and bells there. How does that sound?”

At that moment, they were walking along the path back to town. Daphne’s face was flushed crimson as she took awkward, stiff steps. The clack of her heels and the jingle of bells intertwined with her own ragged breaths.

Upon hearing Edith’s proposed punishment, Daphne’s heart lurched. “Eh?”

“You don’t want to?” Edith pressed close, gently rubbing Daphne’s cheek with her silken blonde hair. Her voice was low and tender, almost like a playful whine. “But I just adore how you’re always on edge like this. It’s simply too adorable.”

Daphne, in truth, had no right to refuse. Even if she did, it would only provide Edith with another excuse to kiss her forcefully. Edith’s words were a decision, and Daphne knew she had to accept.

“Whatever you say, Sister Edith,” Daphne sniffled, her response pitiful.

“Such a good girl. Let me help you for a bit. Be careful not to make a sound in front of everyone, alright?” Edith kissed Daphne’s cheek, then gently linked their arms, supporting her as they continued forward at a measured pace.

With a little coaxing, Daphne’s mood quickly calmed. She was simply susceptible to such treatment; Edith’s tenderness made her unconsciously depend on her even more. The young woman carried a pleasant scent of wheat, which, when mingled with the fragrance of tulip perfume, became utterly intoxicating. It made Daphne involuntarily recall bright sunshine—radiant and magnificent.

This was the impression Daphne once held of Edith: an eternally reassuring little angel who could devise a hundred ways to make you laugh, yet would also discreetly withdraw when you needed solitude.

Was all of that merely Edith’s deliberate performance? Perhaps, perhaps not. Daphne couldn’t yet determine, but she knew that living like that must be exhausting. Gwynevere and Edith were like two extremes: one emotionally detached, the other deeply perceptive; one pursuing sincerity, the other wearing a mask. The two sisters were each other’s antithesis, yet precisely because of this, they could maintain a facade of harmony.

Still, Daphne felt she should be more concerned about herself. They could have returned earlier, but Edith had played with her for too long in the alleyway. By the time Daphne had transformed back into Ellenore and emerged, she could barely walk. It was only with Edith’s support that they managed to complete their rounds of the town just before noon.

Having spent half a day with a bow tied to her there, Daphne felt as though she wanted to die. She couldn’t imagine how excruciating her future days would be; it was nothing short of a nightmare. Look at her now. She no longer resembled an elder or a guardian. She had completely devolved into a mere toy, a pet for Edith’s amusement.

This couldn’t continue. She absolutely had to find an opportunity to reclaim control. Daphne remembered she still possessed a divine-grade hand mirror, whose effects and functions she hadn’t had the chance to properly investigate. If she could find some time alone, she resolved to bind that mirror to herself.

It surely wouldn’t be another dud like the Orb of Oseriel’s Piercing Core, would it? No matter. There was, after all, nothing left to fear.