The Weight of a Secret

Daphne’s legs gave out the moment she stepped into her room, and she sank onto the floor beside the door.

She was on the verge of losing her mind. Not only did she endure the weighted training on her sensitive parts, but she also had to constantly mind her steps in public. Even if a bell jingled inadvertently, she was forced to maintain a facade of calm, pretending nothing had occurred.

The entire morning had passed, leaving Daphne’s mind a swirling haze of pleasure, as if her thoughts had been churned into a thick, languid paste. It lingered perpetually at its peak, never once receding or fading. How desperately she wished to collapse onto her bed, strip bare, and utterly ravish herself into oblivion, then sleep soundly until the first light of dawn.

But such a fantasy was impossible.

In the evening, the town of Kohl was scheduled to hold a cremation ceremony for the fallen merchant caravan members and garrison soldiers. Edith, acting as the chantress, would officiate, and Daphne knew Edith would never permit her absence. Later, as night deepened, Edith would likely knock on her door once more, slip into Daphne’s bed, and torment her through the night, only leaving as dawn approached.

The thought alone brought tears of injustice to Daphne’s eyes. Unable to defy her adoptive daughter’s coercion, yet unwilling to harm her, Daphne found herself entirely at Edith’s beck and call. From now on, the ribbons and bells would be tied there every day, becoming a new normal. Daphne knew she had to learn to endure and adapt. If she were caught secretly removing them, a far more terrifying punishment would surely await her.

“Ugh…” Daphne curled up against the door, wiping away her tears.

This was a brief moment of solitude. Edith had allowed Daphne to return to her room for a rest after lunch only because Daphne could barely walk. Edith herself still had to tend to the wounded and manage various knight order affairs, leaving her no time to oversee Daphne for the moment.

This presented an excellent opportunity to inspect her equipment and items. To continue weeping would merely be a waste of precious time. If she persisted in this manner, she would truly be no different from any other girl. She needed to summon some of that “fierce man” spirit.

Thump, thump, thump.

“Guu-yi!♡?”

The faint vibrations transmitted through the door, striking her back, combined with the utterly unexpected fright, instantly sent the half-blood maiden, who had just steeled her resolve, soaring back to her peak. Her rose-tinted eyes, clouded with tears, rolled slightly upwards as she let out a delicate, pitiful whimper.

“Miss Ellenore? Is something wrong?” Gwynevere’s voice called from outside the door.

“I, I’m fine!♡… Please wait a moment!♡…” Daphne quickly cleared her throat and responded, though her voice remained soft and languid.

‘Shouldn’t Gwynevere be outside town at this hour?’ Daphne wondered. ‘Did she return early for the cremation ceremony this evening?’

Pondering this, Daphne slowly rose, smoothing her dress. After ensuring nothing seemed amiss, she opened the door. “My apologies for the wait, Your Holiness.”

Gwynevere appeared to have been back for some time. She wore a simple gown without a cloak, her hands clasped before her abdomen, standing poised and elegant outside the door. Her expression remained largely unreadable, cold as ever.

“It hasn’t even been two minutes. I wouldn’t call that a long wait.” Her tone was equally detached.

“Is there something you need?” Daphne, accustomed to the maiden’s disposition, asked with a light tone.

“I heard from Edith that you were feeling unwell and returned to your room to rest alone, so I came to check on you.” Her icy eyes quickly scanned Daphne from head to toe, finally resting on Daphne’s slightly flushed cheeks. “Your complexion doesn’t look very good. Have you caught a cold due to the chilly weather?”

“Perhaps a little…” Daphne offered a faint, awkward smile.

“I see. I will instruct the sisters to prepare some fever medicine for you. Please ensure you stay warm,” Gwynevere nodded. “I will remain at the church this afternoon, so please feel free to seek me out if you require anything or need assistance.”

“Thank you for your concern, Your Holiness. I truly apologize,” Daphne said, carefully pressing down her skirt to prevent the bells from jingling. Then, with a subtle movement, she curtsied to show respect and gratitude.

Gwynevere returned the curtsy before turning and departing.

Daphne breathed a sigh of relief, casually closing the door. Although she didn’t hear the distinct click of the latch, she had no inclination to dwell on such minor details. This moment of solitude was precious, and she needed to seize it.

Suppressing the restless stirrings within, Daphne lifted her skirt and sat sideways on the edge of the bed. Only after she was seated did she realize how ingrained these feminine gestures had become.

With no time to lament her “fierce man” soul, the half-blood maiden traced a string of black-purple runes in the air. The shadow cast by the sunlight through the curtain gap, behind her, suddenly swelled under the runes’ influence, becoming monstrously grotesque and vast.

Daphne extended her right hand, fingers splayed and palm facing down, then gently raised her entire hand. A chilling, skeletal arm bone slowly ascended, guided by an unseen force. Its slender finger bones were slightly curved in a grasping posture, and within the palm at the end of the arm bone, a spherical purple blood crystal pulsed. Foul energy surged within it, dark purple mists visibly swirling across its surface.

Then, a small leather satchel hung from the thumb bone. She had simply hung it there, thinking it would be secure, and found it unexpectedly fitting. However, it completely erased the inherently eerie quality of the bone staff itself, making it almost comical.

Daphne grasped the staff, removed the satchel, and then reined in the shadow. The black shadow, which had just been flickering and expanding like a flame, instantly receded to the maiden’s feet, quiet as before.