Guidelines for the Perfect Goodbye - Chapter 37
“Crazy… utterly insane woman!”
He approached her, and suddenly her collar was twisted in his grasp.
“Do you think I wouldn’t dare?”
“No.”
Cecilia shook her head.
“You would, and more.”
She spoke, her lips curling up slightly.
“Then go ahead. But you’ll have to take responsibility.”
“Responsibility?”
“Yes, you’ll have to take responsibility for me. It’s not usual for a man and a woman to be alone in a locked room, undressing.”
“…”
“I wouldn’t mind being the wife of a Marquis. Even though you have a terrible personality, at least you’re good-looking.”
Nigel gnashed his teeth in curses.
“Utterly vulgar.”
He genuinely thought she was insane.
What did it matter if nothing actually happened?
He wouldn’t be swayed by her words. He would handle it his way. Search and verify. Just that.
“…”
He grabbed her by the collar and threw her onto the bed, then turned away with a low curse.
“Take it off yourself.”
“…”
Cecilia silently moved her hands to her buttons. The clicks of the unfastening were provocatively loud.
Tuk, tu-duk. Tuk, tuk.
…Something was off.
Too many buttons for a garment that only opened to the chest?
Nigel felt a sense of foreboding and turned around. There stood Cecilia, as primly dressed as when she first arrived.
“What are you doing…?”
Suddenly, he couldn’t speak. His legs wobbled, and he collapsed to the ground.
And all the while, in his ears…
Tuk, tuk, tu-duk.
“Having auditory hallucinations?”
Cecilia asked.
“Sometimes it’s a side effect. The last thing you imagined would keep swirling in your head.”
While he was in agony, she was strangely calm.
“Don’t worry. You’ll wake up before you die.”
Cecilia dragged his limp body to the bed.
“Seriously, a boulder.”
She panted and then flopped down beside him. Only then did she begin unbuttoning her clothing.
From the loosened fabric, something emerged. Nigel’s eyes filled with shock and rage.
The pendant.
Cecilia tossed it onto Nigel’s chest and stood up. She spoke dismissively to the man, who was slowly losing consciousness.
“Not so tough after all.”
She had made sure the window was closed when she first came in. Ensuring a closed space was paramount.
The ‘Poena’s Tears’ that she had obtained from Gilbert Holt was a medication merely used as a mild sleeping potion—that is, when used normally. However, with a specific spell, it would transform into a deadly toxin.
Before entering Nigel’s room, Cecilia had doused her arms and neck liberally with the potion. Then, she provoked Nigel into closing the door and coming closer to her.
The result?
Very successful, as evident.
“I didn’t expect it to be this effective.”
Originally, Poena’s Tears was a mild sedative used by poor sailors as an anti-seasickness remedy. Its basic effectiveness matched its price – very minimal.
‘Of course, that’s expected. No one knows how to use it properly.’
This potion operates on the caster’s ‘anger’. The deeper and greater the user’s anger, the more agonizing and potent the effect on the target.
The correct usage is somewhat tricky. First, before using it directly, soak an object most associated with the target in the potion, so it recognizes the target. Then, a drop of the user’s blood is added to the potion.
The more the blood donor feels anger towards the object, the more lethal and potent the potion becomes.
“Nigel Rosencrantz.”
Cecilia gently pushed back the hair from the agonized Nigel’s forehead as he was sweating coldly. Then, she whispered.
“I didn’t know you hated me this much.”
To the man lost in a stupor, she pressed her wrist closer to his nose, making him inhale the potion a few more times. Let him sleep deeply. For a long, long time.
This wasn’t an ordinary sleeping potion. Even if he lost consciousness, the pain wouldn’t end.
‘Like someone who’d been poisoned.’
Watching him suffer was immensely satisfying, though it must have been terribly awful for him.
Suffer a bit more. Just a little longer.
Perhaps then, it could compensate for a fraction of the wounds he had inflicted.
The words he used in derision – mongrel, filthy, bastard child.
“….”
No, he cannot be forgiven.
There was absolutely nothing about this man that could be forgiven.
***
Leaving Nigel alone in the bed, Cecilia seized the opportunity of an empty corridor to exit the room. She went straight to the bathroom and washed off the potion from her body.
After a refreshing bath, it was already evening.
‘They’ll notice soon.’
That the condition of Marquis Rosencrantz’s heir was far from normal.
It’s better to be among others, feigning confusion when a crisis occurs, rather than being alone. She needed to find a place with people before the issue unfolded.
Engaging in some trivial conversation with someone would be ideal.
Like in the…
‘Drawing room, perhaps.’
