Chapter 4
In The Beast’s Flower, the three male leads’ looks were described as “handsome” whenever the reader might be on the verge of forgetting, and “fantastical” whenever the memory might fade. Thanks to that, I was almost as curious as the debutantes who’d been chatting so fervently.
What would they actually look like? How would this world render the impossibly perfect faces the author had emphasized so much? The thought filled me with both curiosity and expectation.
“Oh, by the way, I’ve decided to have my dress made at Éture Salon this time.”
“Oh my, I had actually booked with Aritare Salon myself.”
“I personally prefer Mir Salon.”
The conversation, which had been heating up over the Crown Prince’s appearance, quickly shifted to another topic: which salon they would choose for the dress they’d wear to the ball.
This wasn’t just about flaunting the name of their favorite boutique—it was more like a preemptive agreement to avoid showing up in similar outfits if possible.
After all, if the gown you’d painstakingly chosen to stand out ended up being the same as the one worn by the lady next to you, it would do neither of you any good.
The subtle tug-of-war that ensued when two ladies had chosen the same salon was always a fun spectacle to watch.
As for me, I had no intention of joining in on such collusion. After all, I knew that whether I wore a gown from the Empire’s finest salon or a burlap sack, the only one who would catch the Crown Prince’s eye was the heroine.
So I just played along, giving half-hearted reactions whenever politeness required it, and let the time pass.
“I had a wonderful time today, Lady Olive.”
“Likewise. I owe you for a very enjoyable afternoon.”
“Please invite me again if you host another tea party.”
When the gathering finally came to an end, the farewells to Lady Olive—the hostess—were laced with a touch of flattery.
Lady Olive wasn’t outrageously arrogant, but she did have a proud nature—and more importantly, a rather long memory for slights.
I had no desire to be remembered as the shameless freeloader who enjoyed her pastries and gleaned useful tidbits without so much as a word of thanks. So I offered a polite compliment, saying it had been an honor to be invited to such a splendid tea party.
Leaving the countess’s mansion, I again walked alongside Sir Hans, close enough to talk.
During the tea, I’d worried he might have been bored out of his mind waiting somewhere apart, but fortunately, Sir Hans seemed to have enjoyed himself.
On the way back, he said brightly, “Conversations are always more fun between people who get along well. Don’t you agree, my lady?”
Apparently, he’d found someone among the attendants whose company he enjoyed. Good for him.
Once back at the estate, I made sure to reassure my worry-prone mother—whose concern was preferable to indifference, but still somewhat tiring—that I’d returned without incident, then headed straight for my room.
When my maid asked if she should prepare a meal or a bath, I waved her off with a nod and dropped into the chair at my desk. I needed a moment to collect my thoughts.
Tapping the tip of my pen against the paper out of habit, I recalled the plot of The Beast’s Flower.
What came to mind was no different from what I’d remembered during the tea party earlier: the heroine Evelyne’s first appearance at Princess Roselia’s joint coming-of-age and birthday banquet, and her first meeting with the Crown Prince, male lead number one.
Hmm… I tried to remember more details, but nothing else came to me.
Only one vague recollection grew slightly clearer—the fact that the heroine would do something unusual at the banquet to make herself stand out.
It must have been a narrative device to justify the Crown Prince’s sudden interest in her.
But… what was it again? I scolded my past self as a former reader of the novel.
Idiot! If I’d known this would happen, I’d have paid more attention to the early chapters instead of skipping through them.
Thanks to rereading the lion face-off scene over and over, that later chapter was still etched into my memory even ten years later.
“…Well, whatever.”
I set down the pen and moved to the bed.
Sprawling across the familiar, overly repetitive ceiling patterns, I realized anew that I had been in this world for quite a long time now.
On nights when I dreamt of the past, I would toss and turn, waking in a sorry state—but that was all.
I didn’t cry or sink into deep gloom. In fact, I ate well, slept well… even made good money.
Aside from being a little more boring and lacking in entertainment compared to content-saturated South Korea, this place was actually quite nice.
With kind parents, a warm home, a full stomach, and the means for moderate daily luxuries, there was no reason to miss my old life as a 25-year-old single woman in Seoul, exhausted from wrangling with preschoolers, my director, parents, and even my divorced mom and dad.
The past wasn’t bathed in nostalgia; it was a string of increasingly unpleasant memories. Sometimes I wondered if being brought here was some kind of gift from a pitying heaven.
If only I weren’t a side character…
Comfortable though it was, the fact that I could never dream of romance with a handsome man still made me feel a little melancholy.
I couldn’t help but resent the author of The Beast’s Flower, who had hoarded every scrap of male beauty in this world and poured it into the three male leads. Couldn’t they have spared even a little for the rest of us?
Remembering the countless men I’d seen here—men whose blurred features existed only to make the male leads shine—I felt an odd wave of sadness.
Still, my heart was pounding at the thought of the long-awaited event just ahead.
Soon, I would witness with my own eyes how the heroine reeled in the three male leads one by one, the dazzling looks of those perfect men (described as flawless in the novel), and the outcome of the lion face-off scene that had once kept me awake at night.
My heart gave a little tremor.
I’m excited.
With only ten days left, I decided to set aside work on my next manuscript.
The publisher might wail in despair, but there was nothing to be done.
Following the heroine’s fishing expeditions was bound to eat up my time.
I had a feeling the next ten days would pass very slowly.
Maybe I should make some popcorn.
It was the morning after just one of those ten days had passed.
ushla, facing me with the now-familiar sight of a brave lion’s head on my shoulders, was in a frenzy.
“Dress! We have to buy a dress, my lady!”
“Huh?”
Her flustered, excited words first thing in the morning made no sense to me until after breakfast, when she explained the reason.
“We have to look good! At the ball! For His Highness the Crown Prince!”
So she’d found out. The news that only nine days remained until the princess’s birthday banquet—and that the Crown Prince would attend—had reached Eshla’s ears.
By now, no doubt every servant in the viscount’s household knew.
Well, it wasn’t surprising. The model of the perfect man, Crown Prince londmio, was always the talk of the town.
Looking at ushla’s eager expression, I spoke firmly.
“I’m not buying a dress.”
“What? Why? Why not? There are gorgeous new designs at the beauty salon—”
“Aunt Rosier sent me a new dress just two weeks ago. Why would I buy another? That’s a waste.”
“What?! But still…”
ushla pouted, but I didn’t budge.
Ever since I’d given up on social parties—brought down by the harsh wall of reality—dresses had long since been pushed out of my sphere of interest.
I wasn’t particularly frugal or opposed to luxury, but I considered it a waste to spend money on something I found uninteresting and overpriced—like dresses.
It wasn’t as if my wardrobe was empty, either. On the contrary, it was lined with all sorts of gowns I’d received as birthday presents.
And since my figure hadn’t changed much since I was fifteen—damn it—there was no need to worry about sizing, which meant my options were plenty.
When she realized she wouldn’t change my mind, Eshla sulked for a while, then suddenly made an announcement that afternoon.
“I’m going to learn makeup techniques.”
She was planning a short trip just to improve her skills so she could make me shine at the ball. I had nothing much to say to that.
Even if she turned me into Cinderella, the odds of anything happening with the Crown Prince were essentially zero. Still, I kept that thought to myself, wishing her a safe trip instead.
If nothing else, her new skills would be useful for herself.
ushla’s trip lasted a week, and she returned to the viscount’s mansion exactly seven days later.
In the meantime, I had failed at making popcorn about three times.
“Let’s go with these earrings, and which brooch do you prefer?”
Two days later—the long-awaited day of the ball—the maids were bustling from the crack of dawn.
“Anything…”
I was already exhausted.
“All right, then I’ll pick something that complements your pale skin. We also have to think about harmony with the dress, so… I think this one—”
“No, Lily. Not that one. The one further over. Third from the left.”
“This one?”
“Mm-hm. That’s better. That kind of style suits an updo.”
“Ah, I see! Then let’s go with this. Next…”
I felt a bit sorry for them, but all I wanted was for this whole process to be over.
I had no idea how many hours we’d been at it since waking up at dawn.
The worst part was the corset, laced so tightly I could barely breathe. Poor, poor waist.
“Shall we decorate the bodice with pearls?”
“Yes, and a red tone would be nice around the waist.”
I didn’t stop them from hanging jewel after jewel on my gown.
After all, everyone would be dressed up like this, so I wouldn’t particularly stand out. And more than anything… their eyes were sparkling with anticipation.
I decided to let them dream at least until tonight.
Sorry, girls. I’m not the protagonist.
“My lady, we’re almost done.”
“Would you like to see yourself in the mirror?”
Eshla guided me to the full-length mirror, her smile beaming.
Judging from their expressions, the makeup and everything else had turned out quite well.
Still, I wasn’t expecting much. After all, you can’t change the raw material—you know, the whole ‘you can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear’—or maybe you can…?
