In the most unsatisfactory revelation moment to be had, as I got woken up to have another meal by a stone-faced Sieghart, my little brain seems to realize that I can just ask for the food to be brought in.
Yes! That's right!! The day when I finally get served food while remaining in bed has come. My past self might have felt it's unsanitary to do so, but the current me eats with relish knowing that even if I spill something, it'll be someone else's business to change the sheets! The mere thought of not needing to run the washing machine immediately is so liberating!!!
On top of that, I also don't cook the food myself! All I need to do is sit up, look pretty, and chew the food slowly enough that I don't make myself look like a starving dog. The dishes themselves are nothing spectacular, still in the same vein of 'get over your hangover soon' kind of food and thus, err on the side of being blander than my liking, but I enjoy them nonetheless.
No offense to the instant-made porridge company from my other life, but chicken porridge tastes so much better when it's freshly made! I can feel my fatigue melting away with each sip taken, it's just that magical! I wish I could just deliver my compliments to the chef but sadly, Carla isn't that kind of gal.
What kind of gal is she? Well for one, I found out just now, that she's the kind of person who can really sleep. I mean it with the utmost reverence and awe, but this body can go snooze once the head hits the pillow. It's quite a talent! "So, how long did I sleep for..?"
"An entire day, miss."
Holy shit... 24 hours??! I thought I had only taken a nap since the sunlight don't look like it's any different! "And what day is it today?"
"Today is Sunday, miss."
After a night of sleep and memory sorting, this old dog learns of a new trick! The way this works is to play up the act of being annoyed and dissatisfied by the answer by almost slamming the glass of water down, with just enough force so that the click reverberates in the room loud enough to alarm everyone that's attending my meal. "I mean the date, what's the date?"
The same old maid as yesterday, Sasha, answers with the most neutral service voice that almost threw me back to the front of a Gucci-for-eyebags cashier checking out my groceries, "Today's date is the 8th of June, miss."
I lean back on my pillows after that. Good to know that I won't have to learn a new set of months and date-counting system then! That is such a huge relief!!!
Sasha seems to take me lying back as a sign of being finished with the meal, so she moves into my space to take away the tray-table contraption. "Let me tidy up your food, miss."
"Mn."
At least I still can show some appreciation with a short hum, even though I'm feeling shivers down my spine from how haughty I'm behaving right now, it's just very unusual!
Then again, everything is unusual here. Every experience is novel to me, whose schedule only consists of waking-working-sleeping, as simple as that.
So just knowing that this world uses the same kind of month-naming system brings a little relief to my tired heart. I'm not even going to complain about how anachronistic it is, I'm just relieved that there's something familiar that I can latch on in this very trying times.
Now that I've reminded myself of all the slaving off that I did in my previous life, I can't help but wonder about the last time I took a vacation…
Ah, whatever. I can't remember, so let's just treat this experience as one!
In the moment it takes for me to get comfortable in my bed, the staff have excused themselves out of the room, leaving me with only Sieghart at hand. The man is standing incredibly still a little ways away, his gaze clues me that he is looking at the foot of the bed instead of me directly.
Again, I don't know if this is normal behavior for him or not, but I'm not going to question it. "Can you bring me a book?"
"A book?" He asks smoothly without missing a beat though I notice that his fingers twitch quickly before being hidden behind his back. Oops, sorry, did I surprise you?? "Yes, a book. Something about the history of Hortensia, maybe. Bring me the thickest books that exist of that topic"
Sieghart gave a curt nod and a bow like he always does for the past two times I ever commanded him to do something, "I will get them for you, miss. Please wait for a moment." and get out of the room with speed that I can certainly say faster than normal walking pace.
Dang, is Carla that bad to be around with? I know I didn't bathe yet today, but I don't think I stink tha much doe?? Maybe once I'm more used to the role and if it's possible, I'll dismiss Sieghart from being my sole attendant or something. Let the guy have some breathing room moments before his triumphant terrorism.
During this rare moment when I'm alone, I look out of the now open window and see the blue sky, with clouds swimming lazily up and down with the wind. June means that we've officially passed spring and are about to enter the summer season, so I can kind of pinpoint where exactly I am in regard to the timeline–
"I've returned miss," The arrival of a particular man snaps me out of my reverie as he opens and closes the door with his entry. "The librarian said that this book is the best to start with for a beginner."
Said book is barely qualifies to be designated as a book as it is thicker than a man's thigh, black leather-bound tome with big 'The Rise of Albert Hortensia' title in deep, rich copper color. It is so big that even Sieghart has to handle it with both hands and his fingers doesn't meet! Aside from that few superficial details, I can tell that the leather is new by the sheen just by looking at it, and concludes that this must be a copy of an already existing original manuscript.
There's a lot I don't know about this world and this brick seems fitting to be the one to start with. I'll have to start filling the gaps carefully if I want to enjoy my time here. "Hm, seems like a fun read."
Sieghart nods, and, in a twist of event that came out of the left field, he takes a place by the window side and opens the book.
… Hold on. Hold the horses! I need to put a pause on this! Time out!! "Wait a second."
Sieghart pauses, his thumb halfway leafing through the pages as he finally looks me in the eye, seemingly by accident as the pair of sky blue immediately vacates to another point of anchor. I try to shuffle on the bed, act as if I'm making myself even more comfortable while I go back into my head to think.
I asked for a book. I got it. But Sieghart doesn't hand it to me and instead, stands by the window under the sunlight. Almost as if..
No, not as if. He's about to read it to me. Factual statement.
Quickly cycling through the shards of memories I find that while, yes, I can recall many instances of Carla speaking and being spoken to, there seems to be absolutely none where Carla even holds a book in her hands, much less of writing on a paper.
The villainess.. can't read? I sank onto the pillows with both hands crossed on top of my abdomen. The weight claws heavily on my back and throat.
"Alright, you may begin."
On that cue, Sieghart clears his throat and starts to read, "The year where the Kurst Empire peaks in the tragedy of their downfall marks the beginning of Hortensia's house as a whole. Albert—"
The villainess can't read.
That thought echoes and repeats itself in every breath I take.
The villainess might be unable to write too, then.
I wonder which part of that is authorial intent or if women in this world are denied the right to read. "Hey."
Sieghart pauses in the midst of describing an epic haggling duel between Albert and a new mercenary warlord of the East that's about to determine the outcome of the upcoming war. "Yes, miss?"
"Can Joanne read?"
Sieghart.. doesn't answer immediately. He looks down at the book long enough that I can hear his answer before his voice even travels through his lips. "Yes. Miss Joanne is known to be a rather well-read and studious lady among her ranks."
"I see." I mull over the words in my head while I look up to the ceiling, gazing at nothing in particular, the images of Carla doing the exact same in her future-past overlapping my vision in doubles. "Why can't I read."
Not a question. A statement. I'm confident enough in my guess to not second guess this.
Sieghart, as if already rehearsing his response over years of much-needed practice, sighs. And it is as if his sigh has cut the air to my lungs, making it harder to breathe. "The Count said that there is no need for you to do so, miss. You won't need to bother yourself with such laborious activity."
"… I see."
Carlyanne Hortensia is illiterate. And from what I'm hearing, it was a decision made not of her own volition.
I close my eyes for a moment, trying to chase away the phantom that does nothing but confuse my sight even further. Swimming behind my eyelids are the many eyes of Carla's sibling from yesterday sending me away. Cold, detached, yet amused. I remember seeing those eyes on a straight-laced stranger who was watching a car crash video on my morning train commute.
"You may continue."
Man oh man. To think that a clown would transmigrate into another kind of clown in a different world, is fate's sense of humor twisted or what?
One question answered, many more to go. Let's finish this audiobook session with some review before I truly doze off to sleep from how buttery smooth Sieghart's voice is caressing my ears. "So, Albert somehow successfully connected the East and West because of his.. persuasive skills?"
"Yes. This particular skill is what then caught the eyes of the then Ducal Heir of the West, Vill ." Sieghart replies with an answer that feels like it should be about 5 pages ahead, revealing a small smile as his eyes flit through and reflect a multitude of symbols I do not understand.
"You sound familiar with this tale. Was it a popular story?" I comment with a genuine curiosity at hand. Which, turns out to be the wrong thing to do, as it makes the man immediately clam up and close himself again...
Though not without answering my question first. "I am familiar with this story, yes, but it is not a very popular tale among the common folk."
"I see. I'll go sleep the day away, you're dismissed for today."
Sieghart looks at the book and, as if what I've said doesn't match with what he's hearing, turns his gaze back up to me with quite an amount of surprise. "I-"
I remain silent as I meet his gaze head-on. Now that I get a closer look, his right eye is a shade darker than the left one, huh. How fascinating, I don't know if it's because we're in a fantasy world or if eyes can just naturally do that, but it's awesome to see what kind of details are available in the surroundings if you just look at them close enough.
"I see. Thank you for your grace, miss. I shall excuse myself now."
Without any more delay, Sieghart gave a formal bow and, perhaps in a show of duty, closed the curtains before he vacated the room. The door closes softly with a click and soon, I find myself alone once more.
The moment that I'm sure I have this moment for myself, a sigh escapes involuntarily.
"Honestly, I don't blame you for switching over to that side, if that's actually what happens," I mutter aloud for myself, for the ghost of the former missus to hear, in vain hope and dejection. "Your whole situation reeks of abuse, Carlyanne."
There. I said it. I connected the dots even when I don't want to. Admitting it feels as if I'm pitying her, and with the limited amount of information that I have, I don't want to cast any opinions rashly. Be it for her, for Sieghart, and for the Hortensias whom I can't even be sure of the motive of; I have to hold any biases from the book whose main point of view is another separate character.
Speaking of motive, this has bugged me the entire time I thought about it. There's still no clear answer and, judging from the lack of education on her part, I sincerely doubt that there will be any diary in easy reach for me to dig hints from.
"What do you want me to do, Carlyanne?"
Silent. Still. Birds chirp by the window despite it being closer to midday and there's no response despite my waiting.
Quite a puzzling situation I find myself in, isn't it? Unlike how clear-cut it seems to be portrayed in novels and comics, there seems to be nothing at all stopping me from acting out as I wish to. Unlike those fictional heroes and heroines, at least I find the lack of obligation or missions after taking over to be freeing.
"Heh!"
Laughter escapes me as I imagine the situation. There is a great chance of the previous Carlyanne dying of alcohol poisoning on the night that I took over. It's not even a stretch to guess that as the cause of her death after seeing the half-drunk bottle of amber death named Spiritus.
But..!
The fact that Carlyanne might also be concerned about her own survival as dictated in the novel means there's also a chance that, in the most hilarious yet understandable plot twist to twist all plots, that the lady villainess might have switched body with my previous one to escape her poorly-written doom.
"That will explain why the memories lasted until the day of death, even," I shake my head in amusement at the idea of a teenage lady of highborn society waking up in the body of a 30-something office worker in the middle of a pigsty room. "Ah, that will be a great plot twist, won't it? The villainess died and regressed, only to world hops because she gave up all hope of surviving this one. I sincerely hope that you enjoy reading trashy romance novels, then. Other regression villainesses can learn a thing or two from your escape."
With that, I turn over and dive straight back to sleep, dreaming of a clueless woman fighting with the shower head on full water pressure, and decide at least for now, that this vacation isn't so unsalvageable after all.