CHAPTER 14: Words Unspoken, NowWritten
1294 Words
The room's silence was oppressive, a heavy veil of tension hanging between the dubious butler and the enigmatic lady seated across from him. Only a side table separated the two, a fragile barrier in an unspoken battlefield. The butler’s narrowed eyes and rigid posture radiated cold disapproval, a silent war declared with every subtle shift of his stoic demeanor. The lady, in stark contrast, offered a serene smile—a deceptive, knife-like edge wrapped in velvet.
The quiet was pierced by a firm voice from beyond the thick door.
“Mr. Owell, a letter from the Marquess has arrived!”
The door creaked open, revealing a knight holding three envelopes. Alex Owell rose with practiced precision to retrieve them. The knight, momentarily startled by the lady’s presence, flinched but quickly masked his reaction. He refused to acknowledge her with words, an omission that pierced Valerie’s composure like a shard of ice. Even the lowest-ranking knights dismissed her, a bitter reminder of the resentment that shadowed her due to her past.
Alex read the letter carefully, then handed an envelope back to the knight. “Give this to Miss Soria. A letter from the Marquess to the Madam.”
The knight accepted the envelope with a respectful bow, his movements deliberate. Though he offered the lady a perfunctory nod, his expression betrayed his disdain. A sentiment Valerie felt keenly but chose to ignore. Her resentment mirrored his, though it wasn’t directed at her, but at the person whose body she now inhabited.
Alex’s sharp eyes flicked at Valerie, who sat still, her gaze fixed on the letters. He inhaled deeply before breaking the silence.
“My lady, I appreciate your patience. However, I have numerous tasks to attend to, so if you would excuse—” He stopped mid-sentence, noticing her attention locked onto the letters. “My lady?”
“Huh?” Valerie snapped out of her reverie, caught off guard. “I’m sorry, I was just... Are those letters from the Marquess?”
“Yes,” Alex replied tersely, his tone clipped. “He always writes to the former Marquess, the Madam, and me, even amidst his duties fighting monsters.”
“I see,” she murmured, her fingers fidgeting. After a moment’s hesitation, she added softly, “What about me? Did he... write me a letter too?”
The butler’s brow furrowed, his voice cold as winter air. “My lady, you never wrote to the Marquess when he left for the subjugation. You didn’t even see him off. Why would he write to you now?”
“I see.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, laced with genuine sadness.
But Alex, knowing her long-standing hatred for the Marquess, dismissed the moment. Surely, she would leave soon. She always avoided any mention of the Marquess, let alone his portrait lining the hallways. Then, unexpectedly, she spoke with uncharacteristic vigor.
“Mr. Owell!” Her voice was bright, almost cheerful. “I would like to write a letter to the Marquess!”
Alex froze, his disbelief clear. “Come again?”
“I want to write a letter to the Marquess,” she repeated, her enthusiasm catching him off guard. “I’ll head to my room right now and write it. Please ensure it gets delivered to him!”
Before Alex could process her sudden change in demeanor, Valerie swept out of the room, her steps light and purposeful.
Alex remained standing, dumbfounded. The lady who once bristled at the very mention of the Marquess now spoke of writing to him with eagerness. Something had undeniably shifted, and he wasn’t sure whether to be hopeful—or wary.
In her room, Valerie wasted no time. She immediately called for her maid, Emma.
“Emma, please bring me the best stationery we have,” she instructed.
Emma, full of enthusiasm and support for her lady, quickly returned with high-quality, ornately designed paper. Valerie, needing solitude, politely dismissed Emma, who had returned with beautiful, ornately designed paper. "Leave me for now, I need to focus," she said.
"Yes, my lady," Emma replied, her silent support lingering in her gaze.
Once alone, she took up her pen with determination, placing the tip against the pristine sheet of paper. But as the ink threatened to flow, her mind froze. Her grip tightened on the pen.
"What do I even write?" She mumbled under her breath, voicing fragments of thought. “Hello? How are you? I miss you… Do you miss me? I’m sorry—please forgive me?” She winced at each suggestion, her frustration mounting. None of the words sounded right. None of these sounds like Valerie.
Her pen stilled as memories of the original Valerie Hawthorne flooded her mind—the proud, venomous character she now inhabited, a woman known for her cutting words and unrelenting spite in the otome game.
"What would Valerie say?"
Her mind conjured a torrent of phrases, each one dripping with the venom of the woman she despised:
“I hate you!”
“You’re nothing but trash!”
“Don’t you dare speak my name, you pathetic excuse for a man!”
“Stay away from me!”
The words circled her thoughts like a storm, each one a sharp reminder of Valerie’s vitriol towards the Marquess, Ashtone. She let out a growl of frustration, her free hand tugging at her hair.
“This is impossible!” she cried, pacing the room. Her gaze fell on the letter again, the empty lines mocking her. She wanted to scream, to tear the paper to shreds, to lash out at the unfairness of it all. Instead, she glared at her reflection in the mirror across the room. “I hate you, Valerie Hawthorne,” she whispered, her voice trembling with anger and bitterness.
It wasn’t just the world that hated Valerie, it was her. The woman she now inhabited, with all her venom, all her bitter history, and the trail of regret she’d left behind. But as her trembling hand hovered over the blank paper, a spark ignited in her chest.
Perhaps, just this once, she didn’t have to write like Valerie Hawthorne.
Her thoughts drifted to her past life, back to when she was Akari Hakasa, a devoted fan hopelessly enamored with a fictional character, the male lead of an otome game, Ashtone Henstone. To Akari, he wasn’t just a character, he was a beacon of perfection. A radiant beauty with a heart as noble as it was gentle, Ashtone had devoted himself to the empire and the people he loved. On the battlefield, he was a fearsome warrior, merciless against the monsters that threatened humanity. But behind that steel exterior, he was soft, a man who transformed into a sweet and loyal companion for those who earned his trust.
Akari had adored him, every piece of him, from his unyielding courage to the vulnerable tenderness hidden behind his sharp gaze. She’d spent hours dreaming of what it would be like to be loved by him.
But now, fate had thrown her into the unlikeliest of positions, inhabiting the body of Valerie Hawthorne, his fiancée in name only the villainess who had scorned and tormented him at every turn. Akari took a deep breath, the weight of her reality pressing down on her. Even if she wore Valerie’s face and bore her burdens, she was still Akari. And if she could just convey the feelings in her own heart—her true heart—maybe, just maybe, those words could reach him.
Her hand steadied as she put the pen to paper. It wasn’t the villainess writing this letter now. It was Akari Hakasa, a woman who had loved Ashtone Henstone with all the sincerity of a lifetime.
- Writer
