3 bar menu

The Fifteenth Mystery – Part 02

Realization dawned on Ms. Cecile. “Stop!” she cried.

But Victorique paid the teacher no mind. The needle etched its mark upon her unblemished ivory skin, inscribing the Eastern script from Kazuya’s letter onto herself, character by character. Where needle met skin, it flushed deep pink, blood oozing out. Was it not painful? Her visage was eerily devoid of emotion.

Ms. Cecile strode towards her to confiscate the needle, but Victorique leaped up, emitting a wolfish growl.

“Stop! Why are you doing this?!”

“There’s no other way.” Victorique’s response was barely above a whisper.

Since her arrival at Saint Marguerite Academy, Victorique had gradually begun to change. She was becoming more human. However, the occasional soft and adorable side she displayed seemed to have vanished, along with Kazuya’s presence. The Victorique before Ms. Cecile was as emotionless and chilling as when they first met—a wild creature unfamiliar with humans.

“You can’t do this! Hand me the needle!”

“There are no other options. This is the best solution.”

“What’s gotten into you? Have you lost your mind? Victorique, please, calm down. You could simply keep the letter safe and not resort to this.”

Victorique exhaled sharply. “Do you truly believe I can leave this place with a letter?” Her voice was flat, devoid of inflection. She growled again.

At that moment, muffled footsteps resounded from outside the candy house. Men’s footsteps, more than one set. So early in the morning? It was unprecedented. Ms. Cecile gingerly opened the bedroom door, peering through the living room window to catch a glimpse of the visitors. Dark, menacing silhouettes swept past the window.

Ms. Cecile closed the door softly and redirected her attention to her student. “Um, what exactly is going on here?” she asked, utterly confused.

Victorique’s response came in a soft voice, laden with gravity. “To put it shortly, I am also destined to be transferred out of this place.”

“What?”

“Much like when I arrived at Saint Marguerite Academy two years ago, I will leave here with nothing. No books, no dresses, no confections. My knowledge and memories, these intangible possessions, are my only luggage.”

“There are many men outside,” Ms. Cecile quavered.

“Time is running out. I can’t take the letter with me when I leave the academy. But memorizing a foreign script is a daunting task. Moreover, I’m unsure if I can keep my sanity and not forget about the letter’s existence in the future.”

Victorique’s expression stayed completely blank, her face a pale shade of blue from enduring the searing pain.

“Hence, I’m engraving it on my skin. Perhaps, one day, I might cross paths with my Black Reaper again.” She paused momentarily. “The faintest glimmer is enough. A dream will do. I don’t wish to leave without bringing even a sliver of hope with me. I’ve seen too much light to go back into that small bleak prison.” A small smile graced her emotionless features.

A knock came at the door. Ms. Cecile froze, her breath caught in her throat. Swiftly, she draped the light blue sheet over Victorique’s half-naked body. Then, she exited the bedroom and opened the front door.

The principal and chairman were arguing with the visitors, government officials working for the Kingdom of Sauville. The men’s heavy footsteps echoed through the house.

“There’s no need to pack. We just need the girl. So you can step aside—”

“The lady is currently changing,” Ms. Cecile said. “At least wait until she’s done.”

The officials tried to enter the bedroom, but stopped at the sight of Victorique swathed in a sheet. One of them sighed.

“I’ll give you five, no, three minutes. Just wear whatever!”

“Would you gentlemen please step outside? She just woke up and hasn’t even combed her hair yet. You, too, Mr. Principal!”

Ms. Cecile sternly shooed the men away. As soon as she closed the door behind her, her expression shifted, her face turning pale as a sheet.

Fabric rustled, and the light blue sheet slipped to the floor. Victorique, in her naked form, appeared like a young Venus emerging from the waters.

Ms. Cecile’s face contorted with sadness. Victorique signaled with her eyes to come closer, and the teacher complied. Her hands and feet were shaking. Tears threatened to spill. Adjusting her slipping glasses, she sat herself before Victorique. The girl handed her the needle, and she took it with shaky hands.

The characters etched into Victorique’s skin began under her chest, slanting down to below her abdomen.

Ms. Cecile took over for the parts she couldn’t reach, marking the characters from her sides to her back.

Snow-white skin, unblemished by the tiniest scar. Delicate and flawless. She seemed like an exquisite doll crafted by ancient deities dwelling in the Old World. Could such perfect, breathtaking beauty really exist in this realm? To mar that skin with a mere sewing needle was terrifying. Inexplicable fear gripped Ms. Cecile, as though she was committing taboo in the presence of the gods.

Nevertheless, Ms. Cecile continued inscribing the words that Kazuya left with trembling hands.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

“I don’t… feel anything.”

“Y-You’re lying! I know you’re much more sensitive to pain than the average person.”

“This is nothing,” Victorique mumbled like a child.

The officials paced restlessly outside the flimsy door, discussing the current time, their route, and estimated arrival time.

Victorique stared at the pink floral design on the wall with her green eyes. Her face was cold and emotionless. “This body of mine had been subject to mistreatment,” she said softly. “My own father locked me in a tower. Put me in chains. My caretaker and the manservants were not innocent either. My body has suffered under circumstances beyond my control, and even by my own actions. I never questioned it. I just lived on, reading books. But he, he alone…”

A faint, wistful smile touched Victorique’s eyes. She made herself smaller, as though embraced by someone.

“That strange Black Reaper alone…”

“Kujou.”

“He saw me as a treasure.”

“Yes, I know.”

“What an odd fellow.” Victorique pondered it over. “Really odd. I don’t understand how he could think of me like that.” She hung her head.

Ms. Cecile recalled the spring day that marked their first encounter, that afternoon when she instructed the foreign student to take some handouts to the library tower. Tearful and melancholic, she put on a bright smile, her large droopy eyes narrowing.

“So Cecile.”

“Yes?”

“For me, this level of pain is completely manageable. Right now, I search not for an untarnished void of nothingness, but a sliver of hope on the other side of the contaminated waters.” Victorique gently shut her eyes. “And that hope takes the form of that boy.”

“Hey, are you done yet?!” barked a man outside the door. “You’re taking too long to change!”

Victorique’s eyes fluttered open. Holding the inkwell aloft, she grasped it like a queen about to sip poison, poised to pour it upon her porcelain skin.

Ms. Cecile gathered her mane of golden hair and lifted it above her head. The ink cascaded over her fair skin, dripping toward the floor. The light blue sheet turned black.

Ink flowed ominously all over her frame, as though foreshadowing the incursion of violent forces into her secret sanctuary, her mind and body. Impurity, the cacophony in the outside world, a terrifying future engulfed in crimson flames—things she had not encountered before.

Black, fine characters appeared on her milky skin like tattoos.

For a while, Victorique stood in a daze, quivering from the pain, her pearls of teeth clattering. She seemed surprised by the permanent transformation that her petite figure had undergone.

With tender care, Ms. Cecile wiped her down with the sheet. “V-Victorique. Wh-Wh-What are you wearing?” She was trembling herself.

Victorique turned her attention to Cecile. “Let’s see… How about that outfit that you got for me, but I never once wore? The irony of it all is rather amusing.”

“What?” Ms. Cecile inclined her head in puzzlement.

“Approximately two years ago, I arrived at Saint Marguerite Academy as an enigmatic little animal. But this morning, I won’t leave as an animal, but as a student who knows how to respect her teachers.”

“Ah…!”

Victorique gazed at her homeroom teacher, her emerald eyes gleaming brightly. A flicker of light, colder than the moon, betraying a quest for love hidden behind the dark shroud of intellect, ennui, resignation, and solitude.

“Cecile Lafitte. Thank you for everything. You were the finest teacher this little and short-lived Gray Wolf could have ever had.”

Ms. Cecile offered no response. Conflicting emotions swallowed her in an instant—sadness and joy, transience and permanence, fear and affection. She simply stretched her arms wide, closed her eyes, and tightly embraced the small and charming Victorique de Blois in silence.