Tail’s Curse Chapter 9

 

The insult was remarkably blunt, even for a noble—saying she wasn’t Marguerite and therefore not the family’s elder. 

 

My aunt wasn’t particularly sharp, but when it came to insults against herself, she had an uncanny ability to understand. Her face flushed crimson as she lashed out sharply.  

 

“An outsider? How dare you! Do you have any idea how I raised this child? I sacrificed my entire youth staying in this ruined household, washing and feeding this little brat!”

  

“Aunt, please…”  

 

Though it was clear that my aunt had hardly ever been Cordelia’s guardian or caretaker, what truly filled me with despair now wasn’t that issue but the fact that I couldn’t make her shut up. 

 

Frantically trying to mutter an apology, Cordelia froze under the cold gaze of Lord Devillier—it felt like ice water had been dumped over her head.  

 

Because those eyes, which looked at her as if she were nothing but filthy, vulgar bacteria, swept past her aunt and landed squarely on her.  

 

Ahh…  

 

“I see. Just as I thought.”  

 

Vulgar family, blood tainted by them, a wretched and impoverished upbringing. To have grown up seeing and learning all that… rotten seed.  

 

It felt like being pushed off a cliff she had barely been clinging to. 

 

Deep down, she had always convinced herself that she was different from them—that despite enduring endless misfortune, she wasn’t like those people. 

 

Even the tiniest, most insignificant difference meant she wasn’t the same.  

 

But in the eyes of others, they were nothing more than leeches crawling in the same pit.  

 

Parasites shamelessly latching onto better things, sucking their blood without a shred of decency. She wanted to argue, but buried deep inside, a part of her agreed.  

 

Had Cordelia truly loved Jonathan and waited for him all her life?  

 

Or was it simply because she couldn’t see a way forward that she clung to empty dreams, waiting for a rescuer—a knight in shining armor—to come and take her away without asking for anything in return?

 

“What’s so bad about that?” 

 

Her family would have said the same if she tried to voice her grievances. 

 

What’s so bad about cursing reality while longing for a stroke of luck, like a bolt from the blue, when life becomes unbearable? It felt suffocating.  

 

No—it felt like she was dying.  

 

And then, death truly came.  

 

“Ah…”  

 

Cordelia blinked. 

 

Later, when she recalled this moment, she would remember the sensation of sinking endlessly into the depths of the ocean. 

 

Down, down, into the abyss of a bottomless sea. Her heavy body fell without end while her blurred vision caught glimpses of the shimmering surface far above. 

 

The world out there must be different. 

 

Desperately, she reached out, but she had no strength to swim.  

 

A sharp pain shot through her toes, as if she had stepped on glass, creeping up her feet, past her ankles, spreading like a haze inch by inch. 

 

It was a strange sensation, as if scales were sprouting over her bare skin. Her head grew foggy, her breath short. 

 

It really felt like drowning in the sea. 

 

No—she was underwater. The hallucination of turquoise waves crashing over her dominated her mind. 

 

A chorus of tinkling hums, like the chatter of boys and girls, filled her ears, followed by a siren’s lullaby-like voice calling out:  

 

“Cordelia.” 

 

“Cordelia…” 

 

“Return to the sea.”  

 

For some reason, Cordelia was haunted by the eerie familiarity of this moment, as if she had experienced it before.  

 

“It’s becoming clearer. In fact, the reason I wanted to meet today was due to concerns about the children’s future.”  

 

No—not experienced, but perhaps heard?  

 

Many times, over and over.  

 

“My dear, if death ever comes for you, you’ll hear the sound of the sea in your ears.” 

 

“And their song will reach you.”  

 

Her mother had a way of making terrifying words sound beautiful. Yes, like the singing of mermaids.  

 

“Don’t be afraid. The sea is always waiting for us.”  

 

My dear, your mother…  

 

“I hope they never come for you.”  

 

“The circumstances now are quite different from when the elders were still alive. Our Jonathan hasn’t yet completed his studies, so we were thinking of postponing the wedding and extending the engagement period…”  

 

“But if you do meet them…”  

 

I’m sorry, Cordelia.  

 

“…Madame Sharlot, Miss it seems your aunt has expressed her wish not to prolong the engagement. Indeed, we cannot selfishly keep a young lady of marriageable age bound to us.”  

 

“It will hurt terribly.”  

 

“Very much so.”  

 

“If you wish, we can annul the engagement right here.”  

 

“What nonsense! Are you suggesting we break it off now?”  

 

“We’re giving you the right to choose. Cordelia? What do you think… Cordelia?”

 

Madame Devillier’s customary smile slowly faded. The Marquis de Villiers, who had been crossing his arms and stroking his mustache in displeasure, abruptly rose from his seat. The loud, argumentative words of her aunt suddenly cut off.  

 

There was a metallic smell in the air.  

Similar to the salty scent of the sea, but far more ominous.  

 

Looking down in confusion at the blood streaming from her nose, she furrowed her brow. Her heart pounded like the roar of a whale, violent and relentless. 

 

A thick lump of blood surged up her throat. She fought not to vomit, but with a gurgling sound, streaks of blood spilled past her lips. 

 

Madame Devilliers’ screams and frantic calls for a doctor scattered chaotically around her.  

 

Aghh… As her vision blurred like a dying fish, scales began to sprout on her feet. The song of the sirens grew louder. 

 

Judging by her aunt’s horrified eyes—which refused to even glance her way—this was likely a hallucination.  

 

Hemoptysis, chest pain, and visions indistinguishable from reality.  

 

These symptoms all pointed to one thing.  

 

Plop— 

 

A drop of blood fell onto her pale, bluish foot.  

 

The onset had begun.  

 

🫧

 

She hurried to take her medicine, but for some reason, the pouch was empty.  

 

So Cordelia was dragged to the doctor’s examination and had to spill another basin of blood before it was over. Her usually talkative aunt had become as silent as if her mouth were full of honey. 

 

Watching the Marquis Devilliers pinch the bridge of his nose as his wife whispered rapidly, Cordelia closed her eyes. 

 

Celebrating the fact that the curse she had so vigilantly avoided had finally caught her.  

 

Surprisingly, it was not Madame Devillier but the Marquis who suggested she stay at the estate for another day before leaving.  

 

The Marquis, who had maintained a distant and sparing attitude all along, sighed and advised her to rest and recover before departing. 

 

When Cordelia spotted unmistakable pity in his eyes, she felt strange.  

 

I really am dying.  

 

No one knew how much time she had left. Her mother had lived exactly five years after the onset. 

 

According to records, there were those who showed symptoms in early childhood and even those said to have been born with the illness. 

 

A newlywed in perfect health who suddenly fell ill, a pregnant woman whose hallucinations drove her to attempt suicide—each had their own horrifying story, but they all shared one thing in common.

 

They were all dead before turning twenty-three. The longest-lived case was Cynthia Marguerite, who died just before her twenty-fourth birthday, 120 years ago. 

 

In truth, even that was considered fortunate—most perished around the age of twenty-one.  

 

It felt as though an hourglass, its sand relentlessly trickling, was lodged inside her heart. The grains slipped away without pause, impossible to grasp. 

 

Cordelia couldn’t tell whether she was disoriented or simply detached from reality.  

 

“You swindler! Were you trying to bring a sickly child like that into our family? How shameless!”  

 

“She was perfectly fine just yesterday! What was I supposed to do when she suddenly started coughing up blood?”  

 

“This must be why you were in such a hurry to marry her off! This is what comes of mingling with those of unknown bloodline!”  

 

Cordelia had never heard Madame Devillier raise her voice in such fury before. 

 

Until now, she had at least maintained a basic courtesy toward Cordelia out of respect for her late mother’s friendship. But now, it was as if she were being treated like spoiled food.

 

The argument between her aunt and Madame Devillier was so loud it seemed to echo through the entire hallway.  

 

“Watch your tongue. That child’s illness came from your precious noble family! It’s the Marguerite hereditary disease you all coveted!”  

 

“Enough, madame. You should calm down as well, Madame Sharlot. We’re in front of the patient’s room—that poor girl can hear everything.”  

 

When Lord Devillier intervened, Cordelia’s aunt grumbled for a while longer before finally leaving, and the voices of the couple lowered to a murmuring hum. 

 

Pale-faced, Cordelia rose and slowly approached the door.