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VOLUME 1: A DAILY LIFE LIKE CINDERELLA
CHAPTER 2 - Days of Oppression
Precognitive dreams show me various futures, ignoring chronological order. I record them diligently in my diary, my numb hands frugally using ink. Today is unusually cold; there's no allowance for firewood for the fireplace, leaving me wrapped in blankets. Though I've had many terrible dreams, being murdered is a first.
In each dream, I observe from a high vantage point, making my figure clear. The age at which I'm killed is around my late twenties, meaning it's a tale from thirteen or fourteen years in the future. A grandiose sigh escapes me; I wish this despair-filled future would end quickly. After waiting for the ink to dry, I close the diary, lock it securely, and stow it in a concealed compartment.
This recorded precognition is now in the third volume of the diary. I intended to organize it, but time doesn't permit it. Because...
"Elucia, how long are you going to sleep!?"
Hera, the maid serving under Lyacobe, shouts at me, even though it's not yet dawn. Reluctantly, I open the door, and she showers me with spittle-laden insults.
"Completely clumsy, aren't you? There's plenty of work to be done!"
Today, I've been assigned the tasks of a proper noblewoman-in-training: cooking, laundry, and cleaning. This, courtesy of Lyacobe, who believes I'm receiving refined ladylike education.
"Despite being a fifteen-year-old girl, you're thin and malnourished. If you stay like this, you won't find a husband!!"
Unwanted concern. I'm set to debut in high society next year. My marriage partner will either be chosen there or selected by my father. In my case, it might be a unique example. During the year-end vacation, my brother brought Ubel, my future husband, and we met. Ubel, who had seen me, implored my father to marry us. The Ubel I dreamed of initially was gentle, refreshing, and handsome. However, as the precognitive dreams accumulated, his gilded appearance began to tarnish. He turned out to be promiscuous, careless with money, and eventually engaged in a physical relationship with Jillke.
Coming to the present winter, the year I would meet Ubel for the first time, I already didn't want to meet him.
I wear a rough blouse and a maid's dress with an apron around my waist, topped with a maid cap. I head downstairs to where the servants work.
Since Lyacobe and Jillke arrived, there has been a complete turnover of servants. The long-serving ones, who didn't comply with the lady of the house, Lyacobe, were dismissed. They hired new servants from an unknown source. Despite holding auditions, they couldn't find anyone willing to serve Lyacobe and Jillke. A lady's maid typically serves a married noblewoman with motherly or sisterly kindness. Aristocratic women wouldn't serve such a mother-daughter pair. That's how Hera, whose work history is shrouded in mystery, ended up as Lyacobe's personal maid and hanger-on.
Former servants, who worked until recently, showed me respect. They were all kind and hardworking. However, the current servants are astonishingly lazy. There's no cook in the kitchen, and even the oven is cold. I ignite it, thinking, "Again?" I'll be blamed if there's no breakfast before Lyacobe and Jillke wake up. I don't want to waste time being caught by them.
Jillke, seeing me, begins to talk with a sly smile.
"Hey, the tomato soup I asked for last night, you woke up early and made it properly, didn't you?"
"Of course, Jillke-sama."
Though we are sisters, she forces me to address her with '-sama.' I must comply; otherwise, she'll slap me.
Jillke, without saying a prayer, starts eating the tomato soup.
"Mmm! Tomato soup in the morning is the best!"
It seems she hasn't noticed it's the same soup from yesterday, slightly modified. Lyacobe points to the bread and questions me.
"This bread, you kneaded the dough early in the morning and baked it in the oven, right?"
"Naturally."
It's pre-made, but she won't notice the difference.
"Noble Lady, it's freshly baked, so be careful not to burn yourself."
"I understand."
Lyacobe, like Jillke, enforces being addressed as 'Noble Lady.' What a frustrating mother-daughter pair.
Lyacobe tears into the bread without using her hands.
"After all, bread must be freshly baked, or it won't go down the throat."
What a disappointing palate!
I can't bear to accompany them this early in the morning. With a polite bow, I leave the dining room.
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