"Perhaps they've already cut off her head..." Daisy murmured, turning away from the window.
The falling flower petals reminded her of a severed head tumbling from the block, and the sight was unbearable. From now on, the scent of blossoms would always carry the ghost of Merai.
"Do you think the children are settling in well?" Evangeline asked.
"Yes, I believe so."
Contrary to Daisy's fears, the children had adapted to mansion life with remarkable speed. While the servants usually struggled to tolerate Evangeline's presence, the orphans she'd brought with her adjusted surprisingly quickly.
Yulma, possessing nimble fingers, had secured a position in the kitchen. The cooks constantly scolded her for preparing portions large enough to feed an army—old habits from the orphanage died hard.
Lanan had been placed under the butler's supervision. Daisy knew she was clever and quick with numbers, but she hadn't expected the butler to take such a liking to her. At first, he'd treated her with barely concealed disdain—after all, Evangeline had brought her—but soon he began taking her everywhere, as if she were an apprentice he'd chosen himself.
"And Mary..."
Mary acted as though she were not Mary Gold but Mary *Rohanson*, and she moved through the halls like a fish through water.
She hadn't been assigned any work, but was permitted to roam the mansion freely. Mary had grown especially attached to Melek, with whom she'd shared that terrible dungeon.
Melek, eager to earn his keep, had volunteered to work in the stables. To everyone's astonishment, even the most unruly horses submitted to him instantly. Mary had been given the important task of feeding the horses carrots.
If Evangeline kept her promise and returned all the children sold by the headmistress, the mansion would become far more crowded.
"Are you happy?" Evangeline asked.
Daisy nodded slowly.
When she'd fled this mansion in terror, she'd been certain she would never return.
"Very," she replied, her gaze drifting across the web of fibers and watching eyes that covered the walls. She could never have imagined feeling such peace in this place.
---
## — Preparations —
_Perfect weather to die._
Evangeline turned the phrase over in her mind. _It even sounds pompous. I should probably blow smoke from my nostrils for dramatic effect._
She wanted nothing more than to sprawl across her bed, sipping the grape juice Kanna would serve her. At any other time, she would have done exactly that—but now this brief moment was her only chance to rest.
Ever since Gabriel had invited her to attend the ball as his partner, she'd been buried under an avalanche of work.
All because of that wretched debut.
Evangeline had never been a part of high society. Before she could appear at balls and receptions, she needed thorough preparation.
"The lady was too ill to make her public debut," Daisy had explained.
Although Daisy attributed Evangeline's absence from society to poor health, judging by the energy with which the original had tormented everyone around her, more likely the Count had forbidden it—fearing she would disgrace the family name.
When Evangeline sent the Count a telegram announcing her intention to debut, his reply was terse: since she could not be dissuaded, she should do as she pleased—but she must behave with decorum.
The governesses had arrived with his response. It seemed the Count had decided that since Evangeline had "lost her memory," she needed to be retrained from scratch.
_But why so many teachers?!_
Etiquette. Dancing. Painting. Horseback riding. Embroidery... And why in heaven's name did she need *poetry*? Six governesses in total. At least they'd spared her history lessons.
And these teachers were proving to be utterly useless.
The poetry teacher—a sensitive, refined woman—had declared the Rohanson mansion "a branch of hell on earth, a den of demons." Without even setting foot inside, she'd submitted her pompous resignation. Simply put, she was terrified of Evangeline's reputation.
The embroidery teacher, upon seeing blood on Evangeline's finger after she accidentally pricked herself with a needle, fainted dead away, begging them not to touch her. Incidentally, Evangeline's embroidery skills were deemed hopeless.
The riding teacher, witnessing how unquestioningly the horses obeyed Evangeline, declared he had nothing to teach her and took his leave immediately.
The art teacher, upon hearing mention of a studio, was led to a storage room. Apparently, the gloomy chamber frightened him. When he asked to see Evangeline's work, she removed the cloth from all the canvases and displayed her "art."
The teacher fled in horror.
And no wonder. Every painting depicted the same subject.
A woman with an identical expression, staring directly at the viewer. There was something deeply unsettling about it—as if her eyes might begin to move at any moment, like in a horror film. The face seemed vaguely familiar... Who was she?
"Do you know who this is?"
"It must be the late lady."
Evangeline felt a chill crawl down her spine. She'd nearly let it slip—"like a horror film," she should have said "like a portrait." It turned out Evangeline had been an artist. The vague familiarity was explained by the resemblance to Evangeline herself.
Daisy explained that she had arrived at the mansion after the Countess's death and had never seen her.
In her diary, Evangeline had constantly cursed the Count, wished him dead, and pitied herself endlessly. Yet in these portraits, the Countess was depicted with a gentle smile.
"What a beautiful woman."
Even though she wasn't her mother, Evangeline felt a sudden, sharp pang of longing. It was a comfort, at least, that the Countess had smiled at her daughter.
She covered the portraits again with cloth to protect them from the sun.
So the art teacher, frightened by the paintings, had also fled. The butler had even pleaded with Evangeline to behave more restrainedly—he was exhausted from silencing the governesses.
Evangeline was wounded. _I haven't done anything!_
"Despite your memory loss, your manners are impeccable," said the etiquette teacher.
Apparently, one benefit of possessing someone else's body was a passive etiquette skill that didn't need to be relearned.
_So this is what "muscle memory" means._ That was probably why she sometimes spoke too harshly—her tongue remembered everything too.
"Thank you for your efforts, Dolline."
"It's all thanks to your diligence, my lady."
Evangeline ordered the butler to reward Dolline generously for not running away and for completing the training.
Dolline, unlike most prim etiquette instructors, was surprisingly kind and not particularly perceptive. She seemed simply unaware of Evangeline's notorious reputation. Perhaps that was why she hadn't fled?
"The dance teacher should arrive soon. Are you certain you can dance? I heard you've been in poor health."
There were no health problems. The problem was the dance teacher.
Evangeline had learned all the steps quickly enough, but when it came time to practice, the teacher flatly refused to dance with her, insisting that he could not bring himself to touch her.
"My lady, sorry to disturb you. Have you finished your lesson?" Hena asked, knocking softly at the door.
"Come in."
Hena entered, greeted Dolline, and handed Evangeline a letter.
The envelope bore the dance teacher's name.
_Really?_
Her suspicion was confirmed. Leaving aside all the long-winded apologies, the essence of the letter was clear: since Evangeline had already learned all the moves, he considered his duty fulfilled and could take his leave.
"He quit again?"
"Yes."
Now, of all the teachers, only Dolline remained.
_This dance teacher is ridiculous. He taught me everything and then ran away. At least I should thank him for the steps._
Evangeline instructed Hena to tell the butler to pay the dancing teacher in full, without deducting anything for the uncompleted work. Who knew what rumors he might spread? What if he told everyone that Evangeline had fired him without payment, even though he'd taught her everything? She already had a reputation as a miser, and she had more money than she needed!
"Very well, I'll pass that along."
"Hmm... I should be going as well," Dolline said, gathering her things.
"Dolline, can you dance?"
"I know the basics. But to be your partner, my lady, I would need to dance the gentleman's part. I only know how to dance as a lady."
_So she doesn't know the male steps._
"Perhaps you should ask Sir Gabriel to become your practice partner?"
_She has a point... I'll be dancing with Gabriel at the ball anyway. Perhaps I should ask him._
Dolline apologized once more and departed.
Evangeline finally had some free time. She returned to her room and collapsed onto the bed. Pudding began kneading her back with his tiny paws. Adorable, but utterly ineffective...
Jelly, watching this display, transformed into his human form and began to massage her properly. The tension in her muscles began to dissolve. Jelly, it turned out, was an excellent masseur.
"Did you learn this somewhere?"
"My previous master sometimes made me do this."
Evangeline realized she'd touched a nerve. She always forgot that Jelly had been a slave...
"Forcing someone to give massages... what appalling taste!"
It seemed Jelly had wanted to make her feel uncomfortable. She said she'd had enough and sent him away.
_Sorry. I have bad taste too._
"Jelly, can you dance?"
"How would I know anything about human dances?"
_Of course—where would he have learned? He's a werewolf who escaped slave traders._ But since he knew how to give massages, perhaps he'd picked up dancing too...
"Do you know?" Jelly asked Pudding, tugging his tail. Pudding scratched him in response.
"You're insufferable. If you don't know, just say so."
"No, this is *your* fault for asking a kitten who can't speak yet. Pudding would like to answer you—he just can't."
"Why do you need dancing anyway? Did the dance teacher run away too? Humans are such cowards."
"Exactly. Everyone is terrified. There are far too few people like Dolline in this world."
"It's fortunate Dolline at least remained."
"I wonder how much longer she can last? A day? A week?"
"Who knows."
_This Jelly... any moment now, he'll start taking bets on when Dolline will escape._
"I think she'll last at least another two weeks."
"Two weeks? Good."
Evangeline's debut was scheduled for the following week. The season of balls and receptions had already begun, so she was running a little behind...