Hansel’s Enchanted Fairytale: Fill Me Up With Magic! - Chapter 94
The atmosphere in the Arsinoe estate’s breakfast hall was icy.
High, arching windows stretched toward the ceiling, adorned with exquisite frescoes and chandeliers. Elegant marble statues decorated both walls, flanking a central marble dining table—wider than the hallways of most mansions.
The structure remained unchanged. Yet, something felt unfamiliar. Hansel soon realized what caused the sense of dissonance.
Dust had settled on the statues. Even under direct sunlight, which usually made them gleam flawlessly white, a faint layer of grime was visible. It seemed they hadn’t been cleaned for at least a month.
Her mother’s nearly obsessive standards of cleanliness made this an inexplicable sight.
While Hansel quietly observed the state of the estate, Margaret’s elegant voice drifted over from behind.
“Don’t worry, Hansel. The Arsinoe family’s mages will restore your mind from the brainwashing.”
“Brainwashing? I’m not—”
“You’re angry and confused right now. That’s the nature of brainwashing. Leave everything to me and just rest.”
“Mother!”
Hansel slammed her hand on the table. Dante’s gaze immediately dropped to her hand, his worry evident.
Fortunately—or unfortunately—Hansel, overwhelmed by rising anger, didn’t notice the sting in her palm.
“How many times do I have to say this? I’m not brainwashed! I’m marrying this man of my own will. Dante Herodt, the man sitting right next to me. Not some faraway stranger you and Gretel carelessly picked while yawning, but the man I chose myself.”
Margaret’s cold gaze turned toward Dante, who sat beside Hansel. Crimson eyes locked with icy blue ones, and their stares collided midair. Sparks seemed to crackle in the silence.
Margaret glared at Dante as she muttered under her breath.
“A brilliant act of revenge, Herodt.”
Hansel frowned deeply at the remark. Margaret sat tall and regal, her neck elongated with poise.
“But this is the Arsinoe estate. No matter what schemes you might be plotting, it won’t easily crumble or—”
“Enough already!”
Margaret cast Hansel a sidelong glance, as though dismissing her as someone not worth engaging. That desperate expression Margaret had shown in the garden earlier was now entirely absent. It was as if she were an entirely different person.
Hansel felt a fiery surge within her gut. That familiar, infuriating air of dismissal was suffocating. She was so used to it, it made her sick.
Grinding her teeth, Hansel retorted,
“It’s not brainwashing, and it’s not revenge. How many times do I have to explain this? I went to the northern forest, I met Dante, and I fell in love with him—not with Herodt or Arsinoe or anything else—and I decided to marry him!”
“Love? Herodt is a broken human. But then, love? How could you say such nonsensical, naive things and expect me to believe them?”
Margaret raised her voice—an extremely rare occurrence. Her gloved hands trembled as she stared Dante down, speaking through gritted teeth.
“Hansel. You don’t know anything. How could you possibly handle Herodt? The magic, the intricate and tangled history between his family and our mages. These are matters you have no reason to involve yourself in. It would be better for you to leave. You should live in a world that can embrace you with dignity and care. That’s the path meant for you, Hansel.”
Hansel’s clenched fists trembled atop the table. Dante gently covered her hand with his, his warm grip steadying her.
Margaret flinched and turned to look at Hansel.
“It’s always been like this. Mother is always right, and I’m always lacking, always untrustworthy,” Hansel began, her voice trembling. “You pretended to care for me, but you ignored me and dismissed my words…”
She paused, glancing down at Dante’s large hand resting over hers. One, two, three—her heart, which had been racing uncontrollably, gradually calmed.
With a deep sigh, Hansel met Margaret’s gaze with eyes as still as a deep forest lake—completely unwavering.
“Happiness and misery are mine to bear alone. So it doesn’t matter how you evaluate me, Mother. That’s not why I came back.”
She gripped Dante’s hand tightly, the blue flames of determination burning in her eyes—eyes that mirrored Margaret’s own.
“As the head of the Arsinoe family, you owe Dante an apology. I brought him here so you could take responsibility for the tragedies you allowed to happen to the man I love.”
No single apology could atone for centuries of atrocities. But it was a step—a necessary act of decency for those who had committed the sins.
