Guidelines for the Perfect Goodbye - Chapter 256
Ceciliaâs greatest worry was none other than Lilithâs reaction.
Her mother must have been completely shocked upon hearing the rumors. No, more than shockedâshe had likely fainted from the news.
âShe probably couldnât wait a second before running to Father.â
Standing in front of Lilithâs room, Cecilia took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
âMiss Lilith, itâs me, Ceci.â
She had braced herself for a furious shoutââCeciliaaaa!ââto echo through the room, followed by a barrage of scolding so intense it would leave her ears ringing.
But the door quietly opened instead.
â…Miss Lilith?â
Cecilia cautiously stepped inside. The room was dark, the curtains drawn tightly shut.
âCecilia.â
Lilith called her by name, not the usual affectionate nickname. Following the faint ray of sunlight breaking through the curtains, Cecilia walked toward the chair where Lilith was seated.
The room reeked of alcohol. The stench grew stronger with every step, enough to make Cecilia want to cover her nose.
She almost blurted out, âHow much have you had to drink this time?â but held her tongue.
Lilith rested her chin on her hand, her head turned away.
âThe Count told me everything. About how youâve gotten involved with the Rosencrantz heir and how your engagement fell apart because of it.â
âYes, thatâs true…â
âThe Count also said that, since both your engagements have been called off, heâs planning to arrange a marriage between you and the Young Marquis.â
Cecilia wasnât surprisedâshe had anticipated this outcome. What did surprise her, however, was the current situation.
A silent Lilith. A mother who wasnât angry.
âWhy?â
Cecilia couldnât understand.
Surely, the news of her daughterâs broken engagement would have been a significant blow. Lilith had always dreamed of marrying Cecilia into a good family.
And yet, this new situation presented an even better opportunityâa marriage to a Marquisate, an alliance with a family of even higher standing.
On the surface, this was everything Lilith could have wished for: the chance for her daughter to rise from a Countâs daughter to a Marchioness.
But Lilith wasnât rejoicing, nor was she angry.
For the first time, the mother Cecilia thought she knew so well felt unfamiliar. Cecilia, who prided herself on understanding Lilith better than anyone, found herself unable to read her.
âMiss Lilith.â
Cecilia gently placed a hand on Lilithâs shoulder. If she were angry, Cecilia would apologize. If she were hiding her joy, Cecilia would play along.
Lilith placed her hand over Ceciliaâs and turned her head slightly. The faint light caught one side of her face, highlighting the interplay of emotions.
Anger? Or joy?
Neither.
Her face twisted, rippling like the distorted reflection in a cheap, wavering mirror, reminiscent of a gypsyâs wandering gaze.
The trembling muscles on her face abruptly stiffened, her brow knitting in visible pain.
âWhy did you have to do it?â
She asked.
âWhy?â
â……â
Ceciliaâs lips parted, but none of the prepared answers felt right. It was as if an invisible thread had sewn her lips shut, the tender skin beneath pricked by an unrelenting needle.
âRumors donât disappear.â
Lilith whispered.
âI know that. Rumors stay with you foreverâŚâ
Cecilia knew she needed to respond. To say she didnât care about rumors. To assure Lilith that they wouldnât affect her life.
But her mouth remained shut. Her tongue felt heavy, her jaw stiff from the weight of words unspoken.
âYou didnât have to go that far.â
â……â
She wanted to explain.
But there was no explanation to give.
Cecilia had always thought she understood her mother deeplyâbetter than anyone else. She even thought she knew more than Lilith herself.
Perhaps she had come to believe that she was now the caretaker, the protector, the one who had matured.
But whether that belief stemmed from arrogance or truth didnât matter now.
What Cecilia had forgotten was the most important thing.
Lilith was her mother. A mother who adored her more than anyone else.
She should never have allowed Lilith to endure something like this.
Even if Lilith was born a gypsy, had been a dancer, and was now a Countâs mistress.
Lilith, who was as fragile as a butterfly and as blank as an unwritten page.
Even if everyone else saw her that way, Cecilia should not have.
The realization struck her like a hammer, and the thread binding her lips finally snapped.
At last, Cecilia spoke.
âI⌠I was wrong.â
***
She had felt it for some time: there was something missing within her.
She couldnât say whether it was a genetic predisposition or something cultivated through life experience, but the deficiency had always been glaring.
Toward the end of her previous life, she had been acutely aware of a gaping voidâsomething essential missing.
Ironically, this void mirrored that of her father.
A distrust, a disdain, a disillusionment with humanity.
Was it simply the result of betrayal?
If one lived a life filled with wounds, did that justify wounding others for oneâs own purposes? Could such harm be seen as a fair trade for a life devoted entirely to a cause?
But scars were not badges of honor.
She had unconsciously believed otherwise, but it was a belief she now knew was deeply flawed.
âI should never have hurt Mother like that.â
The realization was like a wave. It didnât crash and recede but returned repeatedly, leaving frothy trails as it swept away the remnants of her ignorance.
Wave after wave washed over her, toppling the sandcastle she had built with her false convictions, eroding its foundation.
Faces, countless faces, rose like waves and were swept away again.
Even so, she couldnât fully feel the weight of guilt.
She couldnât reach out to them, couldnât connect.
She couldnât bring herself to trust them.
âHahâŚâ
Burying her face in her hands, the final image that surfaced in the darkness was that of a silver-haired man.
