Irene Decided to Die - Chapter 32
At that moment, Mary realized that all that was left for her was a downward fall.
And the other maids watching them had similar thoughts.
With Lani turning against them, they were left with two choices: end up like Mary or become like Lani. There was no middle ground.
“What do you all think?”
There was no choice in Lani’s question.
“Mary was wrong.”
“It’s wrong to speak ill of the saint.”
“She deserves to be punished.”
One by one, they added their voices, fearing they might be next. With each addition, Mary’s face turned increasingly pale.
“So it is.”
Lani said, smiling at Mary.
The news of the reversed roles between Mary and Lani didn’t take long to reach Irene through Burt’s subordinates.
Looking out the window and hearing the story, she chuckled,
“What an interesting incident.”
“What are you referring to?”
“I knew how close they were. So, I thought it would take longer to drive a wedge between them.”
Irene knew Mary and Lani to be that close. Where Mary went, Lani was there, and vice versa.
Yet, Lani had so easily betrayed Mary over some discomfort. She pushed her only friend into misery for her own convenience. And now, she respectfully refers to Irene as the ‘Lady Saint.’
Since when did they regard her with such respect, to address her so formally? These were the same people who had openly badmouthed her in plain sight.
“I can’t help but laugh.”
Everything was planned and executed with intention, but she hadn’t expected the desired results to come about so easily.
Now, with Lani among them, the maids wouldn’t dare insult Irene as freely as before. Some might even aspire to be like her.
They found themselves desiring the position of a maid to a lady from the back alleys, whom they had once ignored and scorned.
The irony was so amusing that she wanted to laugh out loud, crazily.
Since when had the world felt so easily manipulable? That realization brought joy, but also a devastating sense of emptiness and pain, making her want to tear her heart out.
Whether Burt understood that feeling or not, he added,
“Do not think too deeply on it. They were always that sort of people. That’s why they’re so easily swayed.”
“Always that sort of people?”
“In the world, there are strong people, and in comparison, there are those who are ridiculously weak.”
“So, the maids are the weak ones.”
When they bullied young Irene, they were so bold. But faced with their own crises, they became infinitely weak.
In a way, it was also unfair. To have been tormented and to cry and suffer because of such petty individuals.
‘Was I weaker than them, then?’
She found herself wondering. But she chose not to voice this to Burt.
Burt, like Lani, was not a completely trustworthy figure. She did not wish to open up her entire heart to him.
“Now, next is the ceremony of the saint’s appointment.”
Ideally, it should have been conducted on the day the saint was chosen, but due to Irene’s deep wounds, everything had been postponed indefinitely.
“It still seems too early. Haven’t you not yet removed all the bandages?”
“To do so would require a significant amount of time.”
Irene responded, recalling the wounds that remained on her body. They were still there, still causing pain.
They were not wounds that would heal easily, but neither could she spend forever in recuperation.
It was time to suppress those who were becoming unruly.
* * *
In the quiet night’s chapel, the prayers of one person were continuously heard behind the thick door.
“Please, answer me.”
High Priest Roxon entered the chapel and prayed, over and over again.
Hoping perhaps the Goddess would grant him her voice, he skipped meals and spent the deepening night in prayer. But no matter how much he pleaded, the voice he desired did not come.
“O Goddess.”
Even when he called out in despair, there was no answer.
Creak.
And so, his prayer was interrupted by someone newly entering.
“Lady Grein.”
It was Grein, another High Priest, who had burst into the chapel.
“How did you come to be here?”
Roxon asked, looking at her with weary eyes.
“There are no secrets in this world. You know that, don’t you?”
“Ah, indeed.”
Roxon struggled to rise, his body trembling from the effort. Grein helped him to his feet.
“What sudden wind has brought you to spend the night in the chapel?”
“I wanted to hear the voice of the Goddess.”
“The voice of the Goddess? For what reason?”
“I need confirmation.”
“I understand what confirmation you seek without you having to say it.”
Grein sighed softly.
“I still can’t believe it. That she, not Lady Ramiel, is the saint. Can you believe it, Lady Grein? I can’t!”
“Lord Roxon.”
She called his name softly with a troubled expression, but the flustered man did not stop speaking.
