Tail’s Curse Chapter 12

 

When her eyes snapped open, a horrifying sight greeted her. A large man was pinning her down. 

 

The familiar, foul stench of Morris made her stomach churn. Realizing who it was only made the disgust worse.  

 

In the end, her shameless cousin had come to humiliate her.  

 

“No! Stop!”  

 

“Hey! Hey! You’re gonna die soon anyway!”  

 

As Morris clamped a hand over her mouth and cursed, Cordelia’s body froze. His hands groped over her nightgown as he whispered coaxing words. 

 

Trembling violently, she felt every inch of her violated flesh.  

 

“You’re terminally ill, right? Mom said you’re going to die soon. Wouldn’t it be fun for both of us before you go? Huh? You got dumped anyway—what’s the point in keeping that body untouched?”  

 

His disgusting, grinning face sent shivers down her spine. 

 

Frantically, she fumbled across the bed. Morris kept talking.  

 

“Either way, they said they’d hand you over to the loan sharks soon. You’ll go through hell there, so why not let me be your first? Wouldn’t that be better for you?”  

 

Panting, he added, “If you behave, I might even marry you. I don’t mind remarrying, so don’t think of it as charity…”  

 

Then Morris yelped and toppled over. Dazed, he shook his head—only to be struck again with a heavy Thud—. 

 

Though stunned to realize it was just a plush bear, Cordelia’s face remained blank as she lifted the angel statue high. His mouth fell open.  

 

Bathed in cold moonlight, half her face in shadow, she looked like a beautiful sea witch who devoured men.  

 

Then her soft lips parted, and she spoke.  

 

“Drop dead.”  

 

Whoosh—

 

The heavy object split the air.  

 

Thud, Crack—

 

The sound of splitting flesh echoed, followed by silence—broken only by intermittent groans. 

 

Clunk— 

 

The bloodied angel statue hit the floor.  

 

Cordelia steadied her ragged breath and hugged the trembling plush bear with shaking hands. 

 

More than the attempted assault, what made her heart race was the realization that she had attacked someone—with clear, deliberate intent. 

 

And how did that feel?  

 

Well, honestly…  

 

Not bad at all.

 

It felt as if she had finally acted on an impulse suppressed for years—there was even a sense of relief. When she touched her strangely twitching lips, she realized the corners were curled up, her white teeth exposed. 

 

She was smiling. She wiped the blood splattered on her cheek with a rough swipe of her hand, then nudged Morris’s convulsing body with the tip of her foot. The thick, spreading blood didn’t frighten her as much as she thought it would.  

 

‘Is that bastard still alive? He probably won’t die? No. No.’  

 

If what they said was true, then—  

 

‘I’m going to die soon anyway, so what’s there to fear? If it really comes down to it, I can just die as planned.’  

 

She blinked slowly.  

 

The trembling hadn’t fully subsided, but she had never felt this liberated in her entire life. There was no regret. 

 

Frankly, even if that trash had died, it would have been the same.  

 

‘Ah, but going to prison or facing execution because of that piece of shit would be a little unfair.’

 

A sudden fear gripped her—not at the thought of attempted murder, but at the possibility of her end being as wretched and miserable as the rest of her life.  

 

‘What if my last moments are just as pathetic and pitiful as everything else? What if, just as I’ve been steeped in misfortune from the start, I die in some ugly, miserable way?’  

 

‘What if my entire existence only proves how wretched life can be?’  

 

Her stern but genuinely concerned grandfather, who had worried about her future, her mother, who had loved her and brought her into this world—their affection and worth would become worthless filth because of her.  

 

Even if no one else acknowledged it, when she looked back at herself, she didn’t want her life to be miserable until the very end.  

 

She didn’t want only misfortune. She wanted to have felt—even just a little—happiness, joy, beauty, wonder, praise, and delight.  

 

‘I don’t want to die miserable.’  

 

The moment she became aware of this long-buried yearning in her heart, Cordelia moved as if possessed. Frantically, she dragged an old bag from the corner and began stuffing things inside.  

 

As a child, she had often dreamed of traveling the world, imagining herself leaving everything behind in a single impulsive leap. 

 

Before her mother’s death, it had been nothing more than a child’s fantasy. 

 

Afterward, it became one of many desperate escapes—a way to forget reality.

 

As if that childhood fantasy had finally come true, she packed everything she needed with an eerie calm that surprised even herself. 

 

The meager savings she had starved herself to preserve for her wedding with Jonathan, a world map, a thick coat, leather boots, her remaining medicine pouch, her mother’s heirlooms that could be sold for money… and… Jeje.  

 

After pressing the plush bear’s heavy belly as if to confirm its presence, Cordelia finished packing in an instant.  

 

With one last glance at the familiar surroundings of her room, she pushed the door open with trembling hands.  

 

Her chest swelled with a strange longing, like a long-imprisoned convict resolved to escape. She didn’t know how far this rising heat—like an untested hot-air balloon—would take her.  

 

Even if she ended up like the hero who fell to earth for daring to chase the sun, she couldn’t stop now.  

 

Because this was all she had left.  

 

The door creaked open, and the moment she took her first step outside, a gasp escaped her. 

 

Just as she was about to walk away, Cordelia paused, turned halfway, and spat on the unconscious face of her cousin Morris.  

 

Then, feeling slightly more refreshed, she set off into the world.  

 

🫧  

 

In Katisha’s social circles, there was a running joke, ‘If you want to see the greatest man of this era, look no further than Noah Tudor.’  

 

Being born the second son of the Tudor family—the most prestigious house in the empire—was already a divine blessing. 

 

But graduating top of his class from the Imperial Military Academy, holding the most wins in the Royal Polo Club, being appointed the youngest naval officer, and crushing a colonial rebellion in his first year. He received the Royal Glory Medal. Also as the youngest recipient. 

 

All were testaments to his exceptional intellect and prowess in both civil and military affairs.  

 

Moreover, after officially retiring from the military, he founded Raven Bank and amassed staggering wealth through his investment acumen. 

 

His refined aesthetic sense, inherited from his mother as an art collector, was so impeccable that every artist in the capital was desperate to forge a connection with him.  

 

And this man, who sounded too unreal to be true, was still in the prime of his youth.

 

Those seeing him for the first time always gasped in admiration—for his beautiful face. Inheriting the best of his mother’s famed ‘Dupont Lily’ beauty and his father’s godlike handsomeness, often compared to the moon deity from mythology, this man possessed a mesmerizing beauty that could make anyone’s heart flutter.  

 

Yet those who actually met Noah Tudor always found their admiration quickly turning to shock.  

 

The reasons varied, but it usually happened the moment he spoke or acted. Their reactions were unanimous:  

 

‘How can someone be this insufferable?’  

 

The most famous remark about him came from his cousin, Empress Agnes.

 

“God crafted his every feature, but a demon gave him that soul.”

 

No one knew why his personality turned out this way—not even his doting parents.  

 

Had he suffered some childhood trauma? Had his nurses failed to give him enough affection?  

 

Not at all. His parents, the late Marquis Garcia and Lady Anais, were picture-perfect lovers, utterly devoted to their family. 

 

Noah, the youngest and blessed with angelic looks, had been excessively adored by his parents, his older brother, born a mere five minutes earlier, and the entire extended family—a love that continued undiminished into his adulthood.  

 

His family and friends sometimes wondered if that beautiful face had spoiled him rotten, leading to his current temperament.  

 

Had he been deeply hurt in relationships, romantic or otherwise?  

 

Absolutely not. If anything, he was the one inflicting wounds—his entire life had been free of any genuine emotional scars.  

 

Despite his flawless exterior making him popular from childhood though most fled once they saw his true nature, his father’s strict upbringing had left him fastidiously disciplined in romantic matters.  

 

So the conclusion was simple— He was just born rotten. People sighed, calling him ‘the man who had everything—except one thing.’  

 

Not that Noah Tudor cared. He was too busy doing exactly as he pleased.  

 

The one thing that had obsessed him since childhood?  

 

— “Two gold coins are missing.”