The Maid of the Cursed Princess

Dorothy’s reason for extending her arms had been quite simple.

As she had risen intending to at least greet Sibylla, the Princess had entered, prompting Dorothy to embrace her in an attempt to naturally dissipate the unexpected awkwardness permeating the atmosphere.

Seeing as it had achieved the intended effect, it could be considered a sound judgment.

“…Won’t you release me now, Princess?”

“Just a bit longer…”

While it had inadvertently unleashed the unrestrained enthusiasm Sibylla had been suppressing, such a minor side effect was negligible.

“Well, my injuries have yet to fully heal, you see.”

“…!!”

As if suddenly realizing she had been embracing Dorothy, Sibylla promptly released her and stepped back in a fluster.

“My, are you alright? Shouldn’t you rest further…”

“It won’t hinder my daily activities. In fact, I have been able to walk unhindered since the day before yesterday.”

Her wounds would heal of their own accord, the pain gradually fading. While an ordinary person might suffer psychological aftereffects from such a near-death experience, who would consider Dorothy Gale ordinary?

“How have you been, Princess? Though I suspect I can already surmise…”

In truth, it hadn’t been that long since their previous conversation, for Dorothy had regularly visited Sibylla even before leaving her sickbed.

Had they not unexpectedly encountered each other in private quarters, there would have been no awkwardness, Dorothy having grown quite accustomed to their mutual company.

“It was… arduous. Exceedingly so, attempting feats I had avoided for over half my life.”

Even obscured by her mask, Sibylla’s weariness had been palpable each time they met, her exhaustion mounting day by day. This had prompted Dorothy’s decision to resume her duties swiftly, driven by the desire to support her master before her mental fortitude reached its limits.

“Initiating conversation, inquiring after others, attempting to engage them… they all reacted with utter dismay. Not unexpected, for the cursed Princess they so feared was the one approaching, after all.”

Sibylla’s deteriorating condition had been an entirely self-inflicted consequence of her efforts and the backlash they had provoked.

Having had all human connections forcibly severed and been betrayed by her loved ones after the curse manifested, locking away her heart, it wasn’t simple task for Sibylla to forcibly reopen that shuttered door.

Compounding matters, society’s perceptions of the curse hadn’t improved during her tower confinement, so Sibylla’s attempts to engage despite the already unfavorable scrutiny amounted to self-imposed torment. What greater penance could there be?

“Still… by persevering and gradually acclimatizing, it became slightly, ever so slightly more bearable.”

Yet her efforts hadn’t been entirely in vain, for while the servants around Sibylla still regarded her with trepidation, they had at least begun responding to simple conversation.

Ultimately, the issue was the curse itself – the calamity stemming from figures centuries past like Jason and Medea. Sibylla was merely an unfortunate victim unjustly bearing Jason’s bloodline.

None were unaware of this truth. It was simply that the curse’s physiological and psychological toll naturally distanced people from its cursed bearer.

Inspired by the ball incident and Sibylla’s comparatively amicable demeanor, the servants’ pity for the pitiful Princess had surpassed their fear of the curse, leading them to no longer outright ignore her as before.

“Not an unpleasant development… though the road ahead remains long.”

For one whose expectations of others had plunged to the abysmal depths, this alone had provided Sibylla a measure of consolation. She was well aware that in displaying such ordinary courage, they too were rather extraordinary compared to Dorothy’s indifference toward the curse.

“You have endured much.”

Reaching out to affectionately ruffle Sibylla’s hair, Dorothy praised her efforts.

For an introverted soul harboring deep-rooted trauma regarding human connections to have progressed to this extent, she knew it could only have been achieved through grueling, bone-carving persistence.

Compared to Dorothy’s own dismal interpersonal situation where the witch was practically her sole acquaintance, Sibylla’s efforts and their fruits were truly commendable.

“I don’t expect everyone to be like you, nor even to reach the chamberlain’s level. Yet to no longer be utterly disregarded like air itself is consoling enough.”

“The situation will only continue improving the longer you remain in Hyperion, Princess. The more your innate human charm obscured by the curse is revealed to those around you.”

Dorothy judged that by expanding her social circle and accumulating connections, Sibylla’s emotional dependency would gradually diminish. Then perhaps one day, her only lingering sentiment upon Dorothy’s departure would be a tinge of remorse.

“…♪”

Though such a prospect remained distant, for life seldom unfolded so smoothly.

Moreover, was it even appropriate to treat a Princess in such an infantile manner by ruffling her hair, Dorothy wondered briefly. Regardless of her own perspective, it would hardly present a dignified spectacle to others if a mere maid behaved so brazenly toward royalty.

“…Wouldn’t you continue?”

“…I was merely contemplating for a moment…”

Well, what did it matter in the end?

Was it not a maid’s duty to fulfill her mistress’s desires?

“…Ah, now that you have woken up, there was something I wanted for us to experience together.”

After closing her eyes to bask in Dorothy’s ministrations for a spell, Sibylla suddenly opened them as if recalling something.

“What did you have in mind, Princess?”

“It was…”

* * *

“Umm…”

When Sibylla had first mentioned wishing to experience something together, Dorothy had inwardly fretted, recalling the previous incident where an enraptured Sibylla had pounced upon her.

Sibylla’s obsession had been utterly terrifying, leaving bite marks that had taken quite some time to fade. Though Dorothy had ultimately subdued her with relative ease, narrowly averting any untoward escalation.

Yet no matter the disparity in their respective strength, no matter how effortlessly Dorothy could render Sibylla unconscious, she had no desire to re-experience such an event. Regulating her force to incapacitate the frail Princess without lasting harm or aftereffects would be a chore in itself.

For Dorothy simply didn’t relish the prospect of laying hands upon Sibylla in any capacity.

“A stroll… rather more normal than I had anticipated.”

Contrary to Dorothy’s concerns, however, Sibylla’s desired shared experience was an innocuous, wholesome suggestion. A simple stroll through the gardens like her childhood at the Soleil Palace.

Try as she might to avoid showing it, memories of Sibylla’s youth had yet to depart her mind.

“…You don’t like it?”

“No, that is not the case. I too enjoy strolls, and flowers as well.”

A lie . Dorothy neither enjoyed strolls nor flowers, only three things: alcohol, tobacco, and gambling.

In fact, she hadn’t indulged in even those modest vices since becoming a maid, so perhaps it could be said she no longer truly enjoyed anything.

At any rate, it was certain that strolls and flowers weren’t activities or objects capable of providing Dorothy any solace.

“I am relieved. I had worried you might not find it appealing, for the inner courtyard of Soleil Palace is rather cramped.”

“…Excuse me, what?”

To Dorothy, who had never seen any palace besides Soleil, its gardens felt akin to a lush forest teeming with verdant flora. Yet Sibylla considered such gardens cramped?

“There is another palace completed during the reign of my great-grandfather Henry III, located in the southern city of Nantes. Its gardens are at least ten times more expansive than these.”

But to Sibylla, more accustomed to palatial architecture and scale, Soleil paled in comparison.

“While we can’t visit due to the fire damage during my grandfather’s reign requiring ongoing renovations… I hope we can travel to Nantes together someday.”

Sibylla wished to show Dorothy the gardens of Nantes, just as he had shown her breathtaking vistas of beautiful lakes and sprawling fields of vibrant blossoms.

“There is no need for Nantes specifically. To me, you are far more precious than any scenic wonder, Princess.”

Yet for Dorothy, the location mattered far less than the shared experience of traversing it together.

Whether Nantes or not, garden or not, even an overgrown meadow abandoned by human footsteps would suffice.

“…I see.”

Replying thus, Sibylla graced Dorothy with a smile concealed from others’ view.

Truly, masks were such convenient artifacts.

“And when this curse is broken, we could venture beyond the palace grounds as well… Hmm?”

As they strolled through the gardens, a sudden raucous commotion reached their ears from somewhere.

“It seems to be coming from the main gate.”

“…Shall we investigate?”

Following the source of the disturbance toward the main entrance, Dorothy and Sibylla soon bore witness to a peculiar sight.

“State your business!!!!”

Palace guards barring an unwelcome visitor, bellowing furiously, confronted by:

“I, I, I have b-business here. From Notre-Dame, b-business…”

A hunched figure futilely pleading to be admitted, seemingly unable to comprehend the guards’ demands.

The man’s appearance was nothing short of grotesque – a hunched back, squinting eyes, legs disproportionately short even for his stunted height and contorted into bizarre angles, his unkempt crimson hair a tangled, straw-like thicket.

As if a giant had crushed him before a clumsy child had crudely reassembled the remains. An utterly unpleasant visage, until-

“I ask you, good sirs, grant me entry. It won’t take long…”

The man’s solitary functioning eye met Dorothy’s gaze mid-tumble.

“…Ah, n-nay, I shall withdraw forthwith.”

Abruptly altering his demeanor, the strange man swiftly retreated while profusely apologizing to the guards, scurrying away with astonishing swiftness for one of his misshapen stature before vanishing from sight.

“…”

Just what was this ominous feeling?

A foreboding premonition had flashed through Dorothy’s mind, fleeting yet disquieting.