She Is Not a Witch

The horizon where sky met sea was a strip of white. An orange sun slowly crawled up from the ocean, gradually transforming into a blazing gold-white, as if only then truly awakening from its slumber.

The white mansion stood five stories tall, with a prominent central cylindrical tower flanked by rectangular wings. At each end of the rectangles were two large cubes. Only the central tower reached the full five floors, crowned with an elegant pointed spire. The mansion was predominantly white, with deep purple roof tiles and edges, reminiscent of the Bavarian style in Loranhil’s memories.

Loranhil’s room was on the third floor of the left wing. Outside her window, birds chirped “cuckoo, cuckoo” in the spruce trees. Daylight filtered through gaps in the dark curtains. The young woman slept in a white nightgown, her silken hair spread across the pillow, thin blanket, and fair collarbone.

Some time after the sun had risen, the young woman reluctantly opened her eyes. She had actually been awake for a while but was reluctant to get up. After sleeping in tents and carriages for so long, finally lying in a soft bed again brought a faint sense of contentment and happiness from every corner of her body.

Mmm, I should get up. After all, I’m not living alone anymore. I can’t just sleep whenever I want; I should be mindful of my image. Thinking this, she slowly propped herself up, shook her head to clear it, then drew open the curtains. Bright daylight illuminated the cozy bedroom.

Sitting at the dressing table, she quickly tidied her hair and tied it back. Only then did she realize this was a new bedroom, and she didn’t know where her clothes were. Looking around, she opened the white wardrobe beside her and was momentarily stunned by the dazzling array of dresses before her.

Were these prepared for her? But she had only arrived yesterday, which meant they must have been placed there before she entered the bedroom last night. How did they know her measurements? She had only appeared at the merchant association headquarters yesterday evening.

Loranhil tried on a few outfits at random and was surprised to find they fit perfectly. They weren’t standard sizes but seemed tailored to her proportions.

How did they manage this in advance? Wait, there was a time difference. She had appeared at headquarters just after nightfall, but didn’t return to rest until nearly dawn. That left almost five hours in between. Is this what they call professionalism?

Thinking back to yesterday’s meeting with the managers, there were a few from clothing workshops. Perhaps they had prepared secretly. She’d ask Chelsea and the others about it later.

No longer dwelling on the managers’ thoughtful gestures, she chose a primarily white fitted dress that suited her taste—simple with just the right touch of light blue decoration.

The wardrobe also contained some Rococo-style grand gowns with bell-shaped skirts, internal hoops, layers of ruffles and pleats, and trailing trains. These were currently popular among Western Wind nobility, but Loranhil wasn’t fond of them. She found them too constricting and impractical, like ornate colored vases—nice to look at but uncomfortable to wear.

After a simple grooming routine, she opened her bedroom door. Four maids were already waiting outside—the result of her request yesterday. According to Chelsea, twelve was the norm. The young woman sighed at such waste of manpower. She didn’t need a large retinue to assert her status, but considering her unfamiliarity with the place and need for guidance, she had thought two would suffice.

“Good morning, young miss.”

The four maids bowed, holding towels and other items. They were all quite attractive and young. They then led the young woman to the washroom.

Breakfast was cranberry bread and honey tea. After eating, Loranhil began questioning butler Ceres about various matters.

“How are Angus’s other child and the child’s mother doing?”

“The mother and child live in a townhouse at 209 Sword Orchid Street in Hopland. It’s a safe area, and we urgently dispatched some people yesterday to protect them covertly.”

“Hmm, prepare an inconspicuous carriage. I’ll pay them a secret visit today.”

“Yes, young miss.”

With Loranhil’s return, the Carithes Merchant Association had overcome its previous uncertainty. Various orders began dispatching from headquarters to distant branches, informing them of future arrangements and decisions. Carriages carrying managers dispersed from the vast headquarters, with one ordinary carriage blending in among them.

Loranhil donned a black cloak over her dress before boarding the carriage. After rolling over cobblestone streets and turning several corners, they arrived at Sword Orchid Street. This area was where early Hopland nobility had resided. After Vegar’s independence, most nobles withdrew, and the remaining properties were bought by wealthy individuals. The neighborhood remained quite safe. However, Hopland’s true elite now lived in the spacious estates to the west, built after Vegar’s establishment—newer and more fashionable.

Loranhil stepped down from the carriage. Ceres, dressed in a formal butler’s uniform, went forward to knock on the door. Two elite guards disguised as attendants stood by the carriage, subtly blocking others’ views.

The door creaked open. In the harsh midday sun, the woman inside seemed to squint, taking a moment to recognize the butler.

“Good day, Madam Mela. I am Ceres, who previously served Lord Angus. Do you remember me?”

“You… Good day, I remember. You’re a respectable man who helped my child and me greatly.”

“You’re too kind. I was merely following Lord Angus’s instructions to assist you. It’s nothing praiseworthy.”

Ceres paused briefly, then stepped aside to reveal Loranhil to the woman.

“This is Miss Lacy, Lord Angus’s daughter. She wishes to visit you. Would that be alright?”

“Yes, yes, please wait a moment. The house is in disarray.”

After a short wait, Loranhil was ushered inside. A cool, musty air greeted her.

Most of the curtains inside were drawn, leaving the house dimly lit. Considering it was summer, the desire to keep out the heat seemed normal. The interior was dry and cool, and quiet at midday, with only the occasional sound of a pendulum clock from the living room.

A grandfather clock made of redwood and brass stood against the wall in the center of the living room, covered in a thick layer of dust. In the quiet room, motes of dust could be seen drifting slowly through the slivers of sunlight peeking through the curtains.

Madam Mela poured two glasses of cool water from a porcelain pitcher and placed them on the table. The pitcher’s lid was also dusty, but the water inside seemed clean, likely prepared yesterday or this morning.

Loranhil observed the woman in the black dress. Her complexion was pale, and she wore no accessories. Faint wrinkles had appeared at her temples, and though only in her thirties, she exuded an air of decline. She looked at Loranhil with anxiety and nervousness.

“I’m terribly sorry, Madam Mela, but I have unfortunate news to share with you today. Lord Angus was attacked during his return journey some time ago and has permanently left us.”

As the young woman’s words fell, the madam’s hand trembled, knocking over a nearby teacup. It hit the ground with a crisp sound, shattering into pieces.