Tail’s Curse Chapter 4

🫧

 

A perfectly healthy person could suddenly fall ill one day and die without a sound. 

 

This disease only afflicted the direct bloodline of the Marguerite family, and in the past, people called it the ‘mermaid’s curse’—a curse placed by a heartbroken mermaid who had despaired over human betrayal.  

 

And Cordelia’s mother had died from that very illness.  

 

Leaving behind only a young daughter in this wretched household.  

 

“Not everyone in your family gets it, right? I heard your mother was the only one in a hundred and fifty years. So you should be fine. Isn’t that so?”  

 

“…”  

 

“And even if there is a problem, you have to be fine. You understand what I’m saying?”  

 

To this family, Cordelia’s only value was marrying safely and bringing in the bride price. 

 

Swallowing down the familiar nausea, Cordelia murmured her assent. But the disgust wasn’t just directed at them.  

 

‘How am I any different?’

 

Wasn’t she just as dishonest with Jonathan, just as selfish?  

 

Dazedly staring at the cracked marble table, Cordelia flinched when her aunt snapped at her.  

 

“…so the carriage will come tomorrow. Girl, are you even listening?”  

 

“Huh? What did you say?”  

 

“Tch, where is your head at? The De Villiers want to see you. They must want to discuss the wedding arrangements. The groom surely won’t handle the preparations himself.”  

 

Cordelia nodded numbly. 

 

The thought of her aunt casually discussing wedding dresses and jewelry in front of the De Villiers’ polite, strained smiles already made her sick.  

 

But in her position, even such humiliation was a blessing. Her aunt sternly warned her not to eat anything tonight—just in case she bloated or got indigestion.  

 

Her stomach, which had had nothing but a few sausages and stale biscuits all day, growled loudly. 

 

But when she obediently nodded, her aunt’s expression softened slightly as she pushed aside her half-eaten meal—cheap tomato pasta that looked like a feast to Cordelia’s starved eyes.  

 

Swallowing hard, Cordelia quickly stood when their eyes met.  

 

“I’ll bring you something else to drink.”  

 

Last time she had lingered too long, she’d been kicked in the ankle and limped for a week. 

 

Though her aunt likely wouldn’t hit her now—not with tomorrow’s important meeting—it was better not to risk it. 

 

A bruise could always be hidden under a skirt.  

 

Fortunately, her aunt didn’t pick any further fights.

 

Perhaps the thought of incoming money had put her in a better mood.  

 

“Girl, go fetch more wine from the cellar.”  

 

“Um, Father drank the last of it…”  

 

“And how would ‘you’ know that?”

 

Her aunt’s sharp glare made Cordelia flinch. Both her father and aunt, dependent on alcohol, could switch from calm to violently enraged in an instant. 

 

Whenever that happened, Cordelia’s blood ran cold, her palms slick with sweat.  

 

In those moments, reason didn’t exist for them.  

 

Just as Cordelia swallowed hard and stepped back, the door creaked open, and a tall woman strode in.  

 

With unkempt hair, a sneering lip, and a lazy, disdainful glare, she was far from what anyone would call beautiful. 

 

This was Dorea, her aunt’s daughter and—officially, at least—the only one managing the household now.  

 

The moment she spotted her daughter, the aunt snatched up an empty basket and swung it at Dorea’s back.  

 

“Useless girl! Where have you been loafing around instead of making dinner?”  

 

“Ow! Why are you hitting me? Drunk again?”  

 

“Watch your mouth! No wonder your husband threw you out. Too old and ugly to sell off—how did something like you come from my womb?”  

 

Cordelia was her aunt’s first target for venting rage, and Dorea was the second. When she couldn’t unleash all her fury on Cordelia—their last source of income—she took it out on Dorea. 

 

But Dorea, no pushover, wouldn’t stay quiet when directly insulted about her failed marriage.  

 

“I got kicked out because this house has no money! And you—you’re still here, rotting away with no prospects!”  

 

“Bullshit! Your husband left you because you’re ugly, fat, and have a foul temper!”  

 

When Dorea pointed at Cordelia, standing frozen like a mute fool, her aunt snorted.  

 

“She’s the last bit of value this family has left. Soon, she’ll be the lady of the De Villiers.”  

 

As her aunt rambled excitedly about the money Cordelia would bring in, Dorea’s face darkened, and she glared at Cordelia like she wanted to kill her.  

 

This was bad.  

 

Like a trickle-down effect of violence—when her father abused her aunt and Morris, they mocked Dorea, and that misery poured straight down the food chain to Cordelia at the bottom. 

 

In the lower ranks, the real enemy wasn’t the predator at the top—it was the prey right above you.  

 

That was why, in this house, the one Cordelia feared and avoided most wasn’t her aunt or Morris—it was her cousin Dorea.  

 

When Dorea suddenly grinned, malice glinting in her eyes, Cordelia bit her nails anxiously.  

 

“I went to the village because we ran out of food. Oh, and—”  

 

Dorea’s smile turned vicious.  

 

“I heard she was in town today selling herbs. Surely she didn’t pocket all that money for herself?”  

 

‘Ahh…’

 

No wonder she hadn’t been hit today—she’d sold everything and thought she was lucky.  

 

Paling, Cordelia turned just as her aunt’s eyes flashed. 

 

In an instant, the woman lunged, grabbing her by the collar.  

 

“You have money? And you kept it all for yourself? You little thief!”  

 

A hand reared back. Instinctively, Cordelia squeezed her eyes shut and ducked—but instead, her aunt suddenly cackled and seized Dorea’s hair instead.  

 

As Dorea shrieked, her mother slapped her across the face.  

 

“And you—you knew your cousin was stealing from this house and just watched*l?”  

 

“I only heard about it! And since when is she my cousin?!”

 

Dorea protested as her aunt hit her, but the older woman wouldn’t listen. 

 

Truthfully, she didn’t care about the paltry sum of money—she just wanted to vent her frustrations by lashing out at someone.  

 

Cordelia, trembling like a frightened mouse, took the chance to bolt upstairs. 

 

Behind her, Dorea’s furious scream echoed,

 

“Hey, you thieving bitch! This is your fault!”  

 

“Worthless brat!”  

 

Leaving the mother and daughter to their squabble, Cordelia scrambled into her room, shut the door tight, and dragged an old drawer in front of it as a barricade. 

 

Ever since the doorknob broke while she was fleeing her drunk father, this had become her routine—especially since Morris’ room was right next door. She wasn’t sure if it could stop a grown man, but it was better than nothing.  

 

After her makeshift security measures, she clambered onto her worn-out bed, clutching the teddy bear Jéjé to her chest as she held her breath and listened.  

 

Only when the silence of her dusty sanctuary settled around her, broken only by faint noises downstairs, did she finally calm her racing heart.  

 

Her erratic pulse throbbed painfully before slowing—gradually, deliberately, like easing off a sprint. 

 

The ache was familiar, bearable.  

 

She fished a small pouch from Jéjé’s pocket and tipped a single pill into her mouth.  

 

Then, she piled old blankets over herself and the bear, wrapping them both tightly before slowly closing and reopening her eyes. 

 

Cordelia loved sleep. It was the only time she was free from worry and fear.  

 

The world tilted in her sideways vision. 

 

Blink—

 

The slow shutter of her eyelids framed the room.  

 

The tiny rocking horse and child-sized chair her grandfather had bought her at three. 

 

The scarf and princess doll her late mother had given her. The scattered remnants of a life once lived—her mother’s belongings—cluttered the space, transforming it into Cordelia’s private wonderland. 

 

She’d smuggled these treasures away, risking beatings from her father, who would’ve sold them all.  

 

‘If I marry, these will be thrown away or lost.’

 

She hugged Jéjé tighter. For a moment, sorrow overshadowed her fear. 

 

Something bitter and hollow crawled under her skin. She knew the name of the shadow that visited her every night since her mother’s death.  

 

‘Loneliness.’

 

If I married Jonathan, would this loneliness finally leave?  

 

But did someone like her even deserve happiness with someone so good? 

 

She couldn’t love him. Couldn’t be honest with him.