This damned obsession with Lady Rohanson showed no sign of abating. Michelle was usually sane enough, but the moment Lady Rohanson was mentioned, he lost his mind entirely. That's why I wanted to leave that idiot at home...
"Just move the things and return with the others. You've delivered Misha safely, and your mission is complete."
"If I could help Lady Rohanson in any way, I am truly happy." Michelle clasped his hands together, eyes shining with fervor. "Sister, please create the most beautiful dress for her. Only you in this world can craft a gown worthy of her magnificence!"
_I don't even know who he praises more—her or his sister._
"Michelle..."
Rafaella shot me a meaningful look.
With only two weeks remaining until Evangeline's debut, finding a dressmaker capable of creating a gown on such short notice was virtually impossible. The deadline was so tight that even Artemisia wouldn't have accepted the commission if it weren't for her brother's incessant pleading.
Artemisia couldn't have imagined the true extent of her brother's obsession. This Michelle seemed utterly unconcerned about his sister's sanity. First, he became obsessed with the painting *The Danube*. Then he threw himself into a burning building to save said painting. And now he'd become a complete fanatic about Evangeline Rohanson. This was already the third devastating blow to poor Artemisia's nerves.
Artemisia pressed a silk handkerchief to her eyes, dabbing delicately.
"He is so hopelessly in love..."
_What?_ Rafaella rubbed her ears, certain she had misheard.
"And with whom! Lady Rohanson, about whom such *terrible* rumors are circulating..."
Rafaella, leaving the siblings to immerse themselves in their own melodramatic world, walked to the carriage and silently began hauling things. It would have been better if she had gotten to work right away. Uriel quietly approached Rafaella, who had reluctantly transformed into a worker bee.
"Mrs. Rafaella, I have a question."
"What is it?"
"Does Sir Michelle have any chance with... you know... the commander?" Uriel's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "In terms of... *relationships*?"
Seraph materialized beside them, eyes blazing with poorly concealed curiosity. Rafaella decided not to dignify the question with a response. She simply wanted to return to her commander. _Commander, our squad is doomed,_ she groaned inwardly.
"You lot—just move the things and leave immediately."
"Yes? Very well."
At least they obeyed orders without question. That was something.
---
_Wow... is all this really fabric?_
Watching the parade of people lugging bundles and bolts through my chambers, I could only marvel. My bathroom was gradually filling up, and by now it could easily be called a dressing room. Silks in every color imaginable, delicate laces, rich velvets—the sheer variety was overwhelming.
Evangeline, for a villain, had been surprisingly unfussy about her clothes. She possessed very few suitable outfits. Moreover, she hadn't yet made her debut in society, which meant she owned no ball gowns whatsoever.
With only two weeks until the debut, it was far too late to commission a dress through normal channels. I had been planning to simply purchase something ready-made. But then Gabriel intervened and announced he had a solution.
He'd rented... an entire atelier.
And this was not a figure of speech. The designer, tailors, seamstresses, fabrics—the *entire* atelier had relocated to the Rohanson estate.
I could have visited the atelier myself, but due to the tight deadlines, constant fittings and adjustments would require my presence at all hours. So we decided it would be more convenient for everyone to live under one roof. We even assigned guest rooms for the staff.
"I apologize for the disruption."
Gabriel looked at me with genuine remorse in his silver eyes. At that moment, I suddenly realized—*he truly was the protagonist of a romance novel*. Of course. Protagonists always had mountains of money and used it to solve all their problems without a second thought.
_But Evangeline has plenty of money too!_ What a show-off!
A competitive spirit flared within me, but I took a deep breath and calmed myself. _Saving is a virtue,_ I reminded myself. _Let him spend his fortune if he wishes._
"Lady Rohanson, how are you feeling today?"
Gabriel's outgoing assistant—the one who had been actively facilitating his amorous adventures—had arrived with him. Rafaella greeted me as warmly as if we were childhood friends reunited after years apart. Apparently, I wasn't the only one feeling a twinge of discomfort at her familiarity. Even Daisy grimaced with undisguised distaste.
Wait. Who was that hiding behind Rafaella? Some girl was trembling like a leaf in a storm, barely visible behind the knight's broad shoulders.
"Oh, yes. This is the one who will be sewing your dresses."
Rafaella, without waiting for my question, seized the girl by the shoulders and pushed her forward.
_Aha..._ So this was the designer Gabriel had procured. Her face practically screamed, *"They dragged me here by force."* I was genuinely worried she might burst into tears and flee, like my former governesses.
"Her name is Artemi—"
"I... I... **I don't work with human skin!**"
The girl—Arte-something—interrupted Rafaella mid-sentence with a piercing shriek that echoed off the walls.
_What, excuse me?_
"What?"
Everyone froze. Question marks practically materialized above their heads. A deathly silence descended upon the room.
"These crazy siblings..." Rafaella groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Someday they will be the death of me..."
_They'll be the death of me too._ What was this nonsense about skin? I must have been sleep-deprived and misheard. Or perhaps the universal translator in my head had glitched.
How long would these terrible rumors about Evangeline continue to plague me? I had never heard of villains in romance novels sewing clothes from human skin. Even in this cruel world, there had to be *some* boundaries! The very thought of it churned my stomach.
"What did you just say?"
"*Hic*... I'm sorry! I was wrong! Please don't kill me!"
I had merely wanted to confirm what I'd heard, and this Arte-whatever had already collapsed to her knees, hands clasped in desperate supplication.
"...Why would I kill you?"
I was a villain, certainly, but I was so conspicuously kind that practically everyone knew I was a transmigrator at this point. So why wasn't my reputation improving? The rumors only seemed to grow worse with each passing day!
"Sir Gabriel brought you here," I pointed out, trying to sound reasonable.
Hadn't she listened to anything he'd said? *Gabriel, why didn't you explain the situation to her?*
Although... what could one expect from a silent and brooding protagonist? It was already a miracle that he and his love interest didn't constantly run away from each other, needlessly complicating their relationship with tragic misunderstandings. No—this situation was Rafaella's fault. She should have explained everything in Gabriel's stead.
Rafaella seemed to realize her mistake and hastened to justify herself.
"The lady doesn't kill anyone... just like that."
_If it's not "just like that," then does that imply she kills people for specific reasons?_ I don't kill anyone **at all**!
This wouldn't do. If I left everything to Rafaella, rumors would soon spread that I was *selectively* murdering people based on some arcane criteria. I would have to explain matters myself.
"I don't know what rumors are circulating about me," I said gently, kneeling down to meet the girl's terrified gaze, "but please don't listen to gossip. Judge for yourself." I brushed the stray strands of hair from her tear-streaked face and smiled warmly. "What do I seem like to you?"
"Beautiful..." she breathed, eyes widening.
_I knew it!_ My experience reading romance novels wasn't in vain. Today, my public speaking skills were at their absolute peak.
Or perhaps it was all thanks to Evangeline's otherworldly beauty. In novels like these, there was always a designer who inevitably screamed, *"Lady, you are my muse!"* It seemed I had found mine.
"Forgive me for the misunderstanding!" The girl scrambled to her feet, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "My name is Artemisia Schmidtiana. I'm Michelle's sister."
"Evangeline Rohanson."
_She has an impossibly long name. I definitely won't remember it._ By the way—who exactly was Michelle again?
"You saved Michel's life, and I, having heard so much dreadful gossip, became frightened and behaved terribly. Please forgive me."
Oh yes, she was talking about saving someone... I remembered now! The polite knight with the melon-colored hair. Brother and sister—both equally talkative and theatrical. It must run in the family.
"And what exactly did you hear?"
"Well..."
"Don't be shy. I won't be angry."
Artemisia hesitated, wringing her hands, and I encouraged her with a patient nod.
I was genuinely curious whether all my good deeds had been utterly in vain. After a moment's deliberation, she finally spoke.
"Rumor has it that the real Lady Rohanson died, and the Count found a replacement." She swallowed nervously. "Of course, the moment I saw you, I knew it couldn't be true! You're so noble, and if you were merely a substitute, the servants wouldn't treat you with such devotion."
_What?_ Apart from the fact that we shared the same body... everything else was disturbingly accurate. If this continued, the whole world would discover I was a transmigrator. And the painful irony was that my servants loved me *precisely because* they knew the truth...
"They also say that whoever meets your gaze loses their soul. That you've bewitched a noble knight through dark sorcery..." She paused, then added hastily, "But I'm certain it's simply because you're so extraordinarily beautiful!"
_Now this was classic._ The knight was Gabriel, obviously. She assumed he had fallen in love with me through some manner of witchcraft rather than genuine affection.
"And also..." Artemisia's voice dropped. "They say that Lady Evangeline... purchases small children."
I had simply returned Daisy's younger siblings to their family! *They* were the ones who had been trafficking people—so why was I being blamed?!
"There are many... speculations... about what you do with these children..."
Of all the rumors, the one about human skin seemed to have struck her most deeply. No wonder she had reacted with such visceral horror. It was, admittedly, unforgettable.
"But it was all lies!" she declared, her voice strengthening with conviction.
"Hmm..."
She spoke with such a radiant, relieved smile that I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt.
_What should I do?_ Almost everything she'd mentioned was technically true. The facts were merely distorted and wildly exaggerated—but the foundation was real.
"Of course, I suspected it was merely gossip... but..." She faltered. "You are a little... just a *tiny* bit... frightening... so I..."
_Ah, so that's the issue!_ I was beautiful, but simultaneously terrifying.
"I'll make absolutely certain those awful rumors don't spread any further!" Artemisia's eyes blazed with newfound determination. "I'll do everything in my power to ensure your debut with Sir Gabriel is a magnificent success. I'll sew you the finest dress the capital has ever seen!"
Her enthusiasm was almost overwhelming. It seemed she had completely forgotten her earlier terror. _I wonder,_ I mused, _if I told her the truth, would she be afraid again?_
"There's no need to overexert yourself."
"But, my lady, clothes are your face!" she protested earnestly. "Even the most beautiful woman will appear ridiculous in the wrong outfit."
That was undeniably true.
"Then tell me—what do you think of my current dress?"