Kill the Author, Then to Hell - Chapter 5.1

However, the letter that began with a seasonal greeting contained nothing of substance.

The other letters, too, were merely ordinary greetings, albeit worded differently.

‘Marchioness Ainsworth, Viscountess Langley… the content is all too similar.’

If there was a common thread in the letters, it was that they were written to noblewomen my mother was close to before her marriage, and they ended with a request to visit.

Perhaps, sensing her impending death, my mother wished to see her friends one last time.

‘But she died before she could send any of these.’

Suddenly, I thought of my friends I left behind in 21st-century Korea.

‘I wonder if they came to my funeral.’

Friends… Once inseparable, but strictly speaking, not quite friends anymore.

Yeong-eun, who stopped contacting me while preparing for the civil service exam, and Soo-yeon, who drifted apart after getting married early and only sending baby photos on KakaoTalk….

I was also too caught up in my work-home-work routine to hold onto my friends.

They say if you see a friend once a month as an adult, they’re a close friend. By that standard, I didn’t really have any close friends.

Rummaging through Elizabeth’s letters again, feeling a connection to her life, I paused.

‘Wait… Daphne flowers?’

I had initially dismissed it as just a quaint introduction to a letter.

I, as Edith, knew little about flowers except for the common ones like forsythia, azalea, and roses.

‘But daphne flowers bloom in winter, don’t they?’

Of course, I couldn’t see the garden beyond the windowpane, shrouded in darkness.

But I was certain that there were no Daphne flowers there.

And it couldn’t possibly be a mistake by my mother.

<Mom! Look, red flowers bloomed in the garden even with all this snow!>

I was maybe seven years old then.

I had discovered the daphne flowers and rushed breathlessly into the room where my mother was.

She had smiled and pressed her finger to her lips.

<Shh, let’s keep the blooming Daphne flowers our little secret.>

<Why? Why should it be a secret?>

<There’s a superstition that you mustn’t brag about daphne flowers to others. If you show them off or boast, the tree will die. Strange, isn’t it? It’s usually an easy-to-care-for evergreen.>

My mother would never have mistakenly mentioned daphne flowers in a summer greeting.

‘That means…’

This must have been a deliberate message planted by Elizabeth Dayton.

And it must have been something she needed to hide from others.

Viewing the letters in this light, her requests to her friends to visit the mansion also seemed significant.

‘Was it some kind of plea for help? But…’

It was odd.

If she had been desperate enough to send an SOS to old friends, why didn’t she leave anything for her beloved daughter living in the same house?

She could have said something more concrete than the vague warning to not live like her.

‘Or maybe she did.’

I turned my eyes towards one wall. The wall was filled with drawers, each one very small, and together, there must have been hundreds of them. Each drawer was labeled in my mother’s handwriting, indicating its contents.

There were letters and diaries, household accounts, daily necessities and writing materials, reagents, and even pressed flowers that had fallen off.

‘Mother said the daphne flowers were our secret. So then…’

I quickly scanned the labels.

‘Roses… Chrysanthemums… Pansies…’

And then, towards the bottom right, I found a drawer labeled <Daphne>.

Creak—

My hunch was correct.

Inside the small drawer was a thick letter addressed <To Edith>…

And a ring I had never seen before.

‘What kind of ring is this?’

Duchess Elizabeth Dayton had numerous pieces of jewelry.

There were heirlooms brought as a dowry, an engagement ring, and a wedding ring. Father would also bring various kinds of necklaces, bracelets, and earrings every season as gifts.

Jewelry made from precious magical stones was a hallmark of Claremont noblewomen’s status.

And as Edith, I knew all of my mother’s treasures.

<Mom, may I try this on just once?>

The light emitted by the magic stones had a mesmerizing effect on a young girl. I used to stand at my mother’s feet while she dressed up, gazing intently at her jewelry box.

‘This bracelet was also Mom’s.’

I looked down at the bracelet on my wrist, always emitting a faint blue light.

<This was a bracelet your grandfather gave me on my fifteenth birthday. Now that you’re fifteen, I’ll pass it on to you.>

I knew the stories and origins behind each piece of jewelry my mother had.

But this ring in the drawer… I never saw it before.