TMSB Ch#01

. The Monster’s Proposal

Psyche Clements had an old habit.

Between the deep of night and dawn, she would begin her day by burning all the marriage proposals piled on the table.

Everyone sighed whenever they faced her fluttering golden hair and lovely pink eyes—but the sighs for her life had a different meaning.

Barely awake, Psyche furrowed her brow as she glanced indifferently over the stack of letters on the table.

> “Oh, Swan of the Cigar Empire, Miss Psyche Clements! May I be granted the honor of having you by my side?”

> “Pink begonias, the shade of your brilliant eyes, bloom profusely by Lake Fargo. On Saint Peter’s Day, I wish to hold your delicate, fair hands…”

Still drowsy and hazy, she examined the senders written on each envelope one by one.

As expected, none stirred any interest. Every single proposal came from men with terrible reputations.

With a soft sigh, Psyche brought the corner of a letter to the candle that faintly lit her bedroom.

The flame slowly nibbled at the neatly cut edge, and the faint flicker of light grew stronger.

A beautiful but powerless and poor woman. A woman with no one to protect her. That was the story of Psyche Clements. She was always on edge, and misfortune frequently loomed over her.

“Young Lady Psyche.”

As the maid’s voice called through the door, Psyche blew gently. Black ashes scattered over the crude wooden table.

The letters had long since lost their original form.

Clicking her tongue, she leaned against the window sill.

When she drew back the curtain slightly, the bleak garden touched by autumn came into full view.

“Young Lady Psyche?”

“Come in.”

Only after hearing the urging voice from behind the door did she respond and turn her head.

“Good morning.”

“…Yes. My lady has asked you to join her for breakfast.”

Now that most of the servants had left, the head maid was the one who attended her mother most closely.

She must have seen the pile of marriage proposals now reduced to black ashes. Her gaze at Psyche was dark.

Psyche knew exactly what that expression meant.

Resentment. Disappointment. Perhaps even a faint trace of anger.

The one who placed the proposals on her table each dawn was none other than the head maid.

Because selling Psyche off under the name of marriage was the only way to finally put an end to their long-standing poverty.

And Psyche knew that better than anyone. Still, she forced a smile.

“Please tell Mother I’ll come down after I’ve finished getting ready.”

Preparation was her own responsibility.

It had always been that way. She was nobility in name only. The kind of education noble daughters usually received was a distant luxury to her.

There had never been a governess to teach etiquette, nor any training in harp or piano.

All of it, due to their crushing poverty. Poverty that choked her even when she simply tried to breathe.

“Understood, miss.”

The head maid bowed skillfully, completed her task, and left.

Psyche knew, as did the Viscount and Viscountess Clements, the easiest way to pay off their debt.

Even the few remaining servants in the estate knew it.

Disguise it as a marriage, and sell Psyche to whoever offered the most generous dowry.

That was the only way to repay the mountain of debt and keep the household running.

The aging Viscount and Viscountess would soon need much more help from servants.

At present, even paying the current staff was a struggle. Despite all of Psyche’s desperate efforts, the estate’s finances remained deep in deficit.

In the end, the easiest and quickest way for everyone to find happiness was for Psyche to sell herself.

A peaceful life was within reach—

—if only Psyche alone was sacrificed for the sake of the many.

—

“I don’t want to be sacrificed.”

“Psyche.”

“I’ll be miserable. Truly, utterly miserable, Mother.”

Psyche slowly set her fork down and began wiping her mouth with a handkerchief. The gesture was far too elegant for their meager dining table.

Even in the face of a crumbling life, her father had always insisted she never lose her pride as a noblewoman. It became a habit ingrained in small actions like this.

“I have no intention of marrying.”

As she drowned in her precarious routine, Psyche gasped for breath under the weight of a new crisis.

The Viscountess placed a sealed letter on the table and closed her eyes tightly. She muttered prayers for a while before opening them again.

The envelopes scattered on the table were more marriage proposals—ones Psyche had not yet seen.

“I’m sorry, Psyche.”

Overcome with guilt, the Viscountess couldn’t even meet her daughter’s eyes, instead sighing again and again.

Psyche clenched her fists, staring at her mother’s wandering blue eyes.

“There must be another way to pay off the debt, Mother. One that doesn’t involve marriage.”

She forced her lips into a smile to hide her trembling expression, but it only made her look more pitiful.

For once, Psyche was glad her mother couldn’t look directly at her.

“I’m sorry, Psyche… But you’ll understand once you’re married. A husband can be a strong ally…”

“And are you saying all of these proposals came from decent men, Mother?”

Trying to stay calm, Psyche asked the question. The Viscountess let out a heavy sigh.

Just as Psyche implied, none of the suitors were normal.

They were all men with significant issues:

A seventy-year-old man looking for a young second wife.

A foreign noble rumored to constantly replace his wives.

A wealthy man demanding marriage in exchange for inheriting the Clements estate. If he took over, the Viscount couple could be expelled from their lands at any time.

None of these options promised anything close to a happy marriage.

Psyche picked up one letter from the table and spoke coldly.

“Mother, this man is known for having wives who keep dying mysteriously.”

The Viscountess surely knew that and still handed her the letter.

“…”

“And do you know about this one? He has three sons—all of whom are older than I am.”

“Oh, Psyche, darling. I only want what’s best for you…”

“No decent proposals are coming for me, Mother. You know that.”

Though there were more unopened letters, Psyche turned away from them.

“I’m sure they’re offering a lot of money.”

She finally said the words she’d held back.

Instead of relief, a heavy guilt crushed her. Her mother’s silence made it worse.

When Psyche looked up, the Viscountess parted her lips to speak.

“Psyche, actually…”

“…”

“I’m truly sorry. But it’s not just because of the family’s debt. You need to start your own life, my dear.”

“…”

“Your father… he’s very ill. You must marry while he’s still strong enough. Only then can you…”

The Viscountess forced a faint smile, hiding the devastation on her face.

“…Father is ill?”

“Yes, Psyche. But you don’t need to worry. It’s not a grave illness. With proper treatment, he can recover.”

Psyche felt as though her blood was flowing backward. Her fingers and toes tingled, and her throat stung.

“…Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Your father insisted. He didn’t want to burden you. And I agreed. I didn’t want to load you with worry.”

Viscount Clements—Psyche’s father—had tried to raise her preciously even as everything else crumbled.

He couldn’t give her lavish debutante balls or tea parties like other noble daughters had. She wore the same outdated dress her mother passed down. Yet Psyche’s life was intact.

She never resented her circumstances, nor felt ashamed of her one party dress.

Because her kind father was always there, showing her love.

> “Psyche, my beloved daughter. I will restore the honor of the Clements name and pass it on to you.”

> “You are the only heir of House Clements.”

Ah.

Recalling his gentle voice, Psyche let out a tearful sigh.

A sorrow beyond words swept over her. She was furious at herself for not realizing how frail he had become.

“So how much is needed for treatment?”

But the words that came out were harshly practical.

That’s how the world was.

No one would miraculously step in to save her father. The family’s debt wouldn’t disappear overnight.

She had to handle this life herself.

“They say it’ll cost 500 francs a month for medicine alone. I’ll manage it somehow. Psyche, you should live your own life now. Start your own family.”

Her mother dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief, swallowing her grief. Psyche felt like she couldn’t breathe.

“Mother, starting a family…”

That’s a dream for people with normal, stable lives.

All I can do is drown here with you or abandon you to save myself.

Psyche swallowed her words and lowered her head.

She resented her mother, who was still clinging to a fantasy.

Her clenched fists had gone pale.

“Oh, Mother… I’m sorry. Let’s find another way to treat Father. I’ll try to increase my embroidery sales. We’ll survive better together than apart…”

Suppressing her nausea, she spoke bit by bit—but trailed off mid-sentence.

Because an uninvited guest entered the dining room.

Psyche stared silently at the head maid who had just burst in, then slowly loosened her fist and clenched it again. Her rounded nails dug into her palm.

“My lady! Someone has arrived from the Grand Duchy of Hyer! A marriage proposal has come for Miss Psyche!”