Tail’s Curse Chapter 7

 

“Your grandfather chose that boy as your fiancé to continue the family line. In the end, our families were fated to merge. Do you have any idea how much it costs to marry off a girl? If they’re taking you away, of course they should show their sincerity first.”  

 

The way she spoke, as if reclaiming what was rightfully hers, made Cordelia feel a different kind of pain than before. 

 

‘Ah, what if Aunt behaves like that in front of Jonathan or his family…’ 

 

Just the thought made her dizzy. Of course, they already knew about her wretched family and likely held the worst impression, but Cordelia didn’t want to feel humiliated anymore. 

 

Even though she was used to being insulted herself, this kind of shame was something she could never grow accustomed to.  

 

The family her grandfather had devoted his life to protecting, the mansion her mother had loved and grown up in—Marguerite itself—felt like it was being thrown into the mud.  

 

‘Ah. To those who remember its glorious days, how pitiful and absurd must our downfall seem?’  

 

Unable to bear it, Cordelia tightly shut her eyes.  

 

“Aunt.”  

 

‘No. Don’t.’  

 

“It’s better… not to say such things in front of the Devilliers couple.”  

 

‘Ahh.’  

 

Once again, she couldn’t hold back. 

 

Cordelia thought she had been acting sufficiently servile, but if she couldn’t endure and instead blurted out reckless words at critical moments, then perhaps—just as her father and aunt said—she was still a foolish girl who didn’t know her place. Still acting out of turn.  

 

With no redeeming qualities, nothing to excuse her.  

 

At times like this, sparks would fly in her aunt’s eyes, and she would strike the ‘overpriced commodity’ hard across the cheek. 

 

‘After all the mercy we’ve shown you, you still dare to act like a noble?’  

 

But even years after her mother’s death, Cordelia couldn’t understand those words.  

 

‘But I am a noble, aren’t I?’

 

This mansion, the title inherited from her grandfather and mother—they were all rightful possessions of an imperial noble family. 

 

Even if they were poor, the blood running through her veins, the pride she inherited, the history of her family—none of that disappeared. 

 

Why did they get so angry over things she had been born with? 

 

Especially when her father had married her mother ‘because’ she was a noble.

 

Once, I understood their disdain as mere dislike for someone who acted superior, was unpleasant, and carried the detestable, old-fashioned legacy. 

 

But now I know.  

 

They despise what they don’t have. No, more precisely, they despise themselves for not having it.  

 

When I realized that, how hollow I felt. Or perhaps how wretched.  

 

“What?”  

 

Of course, my aunt was furious.  

 

“What do you mean? Telling me not to talk about money?”  

 

“That’s not what I meant. I just meant we should be… a little more cautious. Honestly, the fact that they haven’t called off the engagement is already a huge concession on their part. This marriage is already lopsided as it is. If we ask for more in this situation…”  

 

I gulped and finally spat out the words I had been swallowing all this time. I was surprised at how well I spoke. 

 

But as my aunt’s eyes twitched and her face flushed red and purple, the surge of courage rapidly drained away.  

 

“You’ve lost your damn mind now that your wedding’s around the corner.”  

 

I hunched my shoulders but didn’t look away. 

 

Not for her sake, but for Jonathan—my grateful yet pitiful fiancé—his honor and pride. 

 

That was what I wanted to protect. Because I felt guilty toward his family. Because I didn’t want to become even the slightest bit more wretched here.  

 

Fortunately, my aunt didn’t mar the face of her niece, who would soon have to make a public appearance. 

 

Instead, she struck Cordelia’s head discreetly. Whether it was sheer force or her rough hands, my head spun for a moment, but I staggered without collapsing. I didn’t want my mother’s dress to get dirty from the dusty floor.  

 

As my aunt continued spewing curses, she shoved the pale-faced Cordelia toward Dorea, ordering her to clean her up. 

 

Dorea, with a spiteful expression, sat her stupid-looking cousin in front of the cracked vanity and began slathering her face with some old white powder, puffing it on aggressively. When Cordelia coughed and squirmed, she scolded her for being a nuisance.  

 

A moment later, Cordelia stared into the mirror and recoiled in horror at the sight of a flour-dusted mouse—a girl with only her lips and cheeks absurdly, garishly red. 

 

The overly gaudy makeup made her look like a ridiculous, cheap theater actress.  

 

Dorea smirked and said, “Pretty,” her words usually meant the opposite before leaving the room indifferently. 

 

Cordelia stared despairingly at her reflection, desperately scrubbing off the powder with a handkerchief and rubbing her lips raw, trying to make herself look at least a little less absurd.  

 

Oh, what do I do? I’m so hideous. So ugly.

 

After managing to look passably rustic yet modest enough to be called plain, she swallowed a gloomy sigh and stared blankly at her shabby reflection in the mirror. 

 

All she could do was pray that the sophisticated Devilliers couple would be generous in their judgment of her.  

 

“You’re late! Can’t you hurry down?”  

 

“Yes!”  

 

Cordelia hastily stuffed her belongings into a small pouch, another keepsake from her mother, and swallowed today’s dose of medicine, hesitating for a moment over whether to take extra pills with her.  

 

Marguerite’s hereditary disease lay dormant, only to strike suddenly.  

 

No one knew its exact cause or why it manifested in only a few family members. 

 

However, according to ancestral research, the curse of the mermaid primarily afflicted those who had suffered great despair, betrayal, or heartbreak. 

 

From childhood consistently taking a certain ‘medicine’ could prevent its onset.  

 

Thus, Cordelia’s mother had administered the medicine to her since infancy. 

 

After the old family physician, who had served their bloodline for generations, passed away, her mother—who had never dirtied her hands with labor—began preparing the medicine herself. 

 

By the time her mother’s mental illness had spiraled beyond her control, young Cordelia had to swallow the bitter pills daily with her own small hands.  

 

Experience had taught her that excessive stress or tension triggered early symptoms—her limbs turning icy cold while her heart burned as if on fire. 

 

Even if she had already taken her dose, she needed another then. She didn’t know what would happen if she skipped it. 

 

Timid Cordelia had always followed her mother’s rules without question.  

 

Reluctant to waste the dwindling supply, she gulped but hastily stuffed the pouch away at her aunt’s booming shout from downstairs and sprang to her feet.  

 

Pushed along by the stream of curses her aunt hurled as she descended the stairs, Cordelia’s head spun—until she collided with her cousin Dorea and nearly tumbled down. 

 

Knocked halfway back by Dorea’s sturdy frame, the pain brought tears to her eyes. 

 

Staggering, she flinched as Dorea glared in fury.  

 

“You stupid fool! You’re the one who bumped into me, and now you’re playing the victim? Planning to tattle to Mother just because you’re some precious bride-to-be?”

 

Mumbling an apology, Cordelia was met with a disdainful once-over before Dorea shoved her shoulder and stormed off. 

 

By the time she hurriedly picked up the pouch that had tumbled onto the stairs and climbed into the carriage with her aunt, she was already drained. Her aunt scowled at her dazed niece and launched into a litany of complaints.  

 

“Ugh, I can’t stand that lifeless look. Smile a little! Just looking at you is depressing.”  

 

Well, of course, it was. Her days held far more gloom than joy—and a significant portion of the blame for that lay with the extravagantly dressed woman now glaring at her. 

 

The aunt looked like nothing so much as a pompous, waddling old turkey, preening in her outdated ruffled dress, peacock-feather hat, dull silk shoes, and a brooch that was surely fake. 

 

Cordelia’s gloomy eyes skimmed over the ensemble before she turned her head toward the small carriage window.  

 

How much more ridicule awaited her? 

 

The Devilliers estate, once a place of childhood visits and memories, now only filled her with discomfort.  

 

Just then, she spotted Dorea dawdling outside the house. Her aunt rolled down the window and snapped at her to stop lazing around and finish the piled-up chores while they were gone. 

 

Dorea pouted, shot Cordelia a sidelong glance, and wordlessly disappeared inside. Her attitude earned another round of loud curses from their aunt.