Chapter 7
Vidalia was happy. It had been a long time since she had felt… how should she put it? Calm? Anyway, her encounter with Arzhel was her first gift in ages. She, who had believed everything would only get worse and that she had to face it all alone, now had a friend!
Vidalia stopped wiping the window—though she hadn't really been cleaning it—and thought over all the intrigue she could remember. Arzhel wasn't in the original story, so his presence shouldn't interfere with it, right?
The day after their meeting, she thought she must have dreamed it and that she'd never see Arzhel again. But the young mage surprised her that evening, appearing at her window with a mischievous smile. If anyone knew her status as a reincarnated soul, they might have called her childish or immature, but she didn't care. In her former life, she had never had the chance to make friends. Between odd jobs, her stepmother's and stepsister's whims, and her studies, she never had the time.
Arzhel had promised to visit her at least three times a week. Even as her secret friend, Vidalia was more than satisfied. She didn't want her father or stepmother to hurt her, after all.
Vidalia glanced at Naya, hidden under her veil on her shoulder, and swung her feet. She was lucky—she now had two friends, plus Sorel, Arzhel's spirit. Though a little quiet and ever impassive, the dragon-winged spirit never failed to make her laugh.
"Argg!"
Vidalia was happy, but there was something else fueling her joy. Her green eyes narrowed on Angela, seated on her pristine white and rosewood sofa, her angelic face twisted in anger. The rumor spreading since Vidalia's birthday evening was hilarious. Though she already knew, seeing her dear sister's little misfortune in person filled her with glee. Everyone seemed to know by now, and for the past three days, Angela hadn't left her room.
Vidalia walked along the hallway wall, lowering her head as others passed. Naya hummed a cheerful tune on her shoulder, prompting Vidalia to hum along. Today, she would resume her duties as a servant—but she didn't care. She could steal some food and finally breathe freely, instead of being cooped up all day.
Three servants emerged from a room they had apparently finished cleaning. Vidalia stopped, bent slightly, and let them pass.
"So it's true?" one asked.
"You missed quite the scene!" laughed another. "You should have seen madam's face! She looked like she was constipated!" She laughed loudly.
"Shh!" the last one said, stifling her giggles. "But it's true. Miss was evaluated as having an F-level in magic. The whole room froze when they heard it. The master turned completely red with embarrassment and had to repeat the test over ten times!" She burst out laughing.
"My goodness, what bad luck! It had to happen the day I was sick! Come on, tell me more!" the other laughed, joined by the rest.
So it was on her seventh birthday that Angela had been humiliated in high society? Vidalia grinned brightly and continued on her way.
The Sullivan family had been known for generations for children with great magical power. Her father and brother were renowned for having an A-level in magic, so it was understandable why Angélique Angela's ego had been wounded.
Vidalia covered her mouth with her palm to stifle a laugh.
Since then, Angela hadn't left her room—but she would have to finish her little tantrum, because today she started her nobility lessons.
"Big sister?"
Angela glared at her, eyes full of rage. "What!?" she spat.
Vidalia exhaled to calm herself. No use taking everything to heart.
"Your instructor will arrive in a few minutes. You need to be in the parlor to greet her," Vidalia explained calmly.
Angela gave a haughty smile, tossing her blue hair over her shoulders. Like mother, like daughter—she copied her mother's tics. She looked up at Vidalia, who grinned mischievously behind her veil, emerald eyes sparkling.
"You see," Angela began, grabbing her teacup, "it's your job as a servant, so why are you telling me this?" She took a satisfied sip.
Vidalia held back a smile. Truly, she was just a child. But if anything went wrong, she would pay the price. Vidalia snapped back to reality and started to panic.
"Big sister, it's the host's role to welcome their guests—" Vidalia was cut off as Angela slapped her palm in front of her face.
"Mother always says the star arrives last. That was the case on my birthday. All the guests were already in the banquet hall, and I arrived last in my magnificent gown. And you know what? They all congratulated me and complimented my dress." Angela boasted while eating her cookie, looking down at Vidalia.
"But that's not the same," Vidalia searched the room, looking for her older siblings.
They were alone. Usually, older servants would watch over her and help attend to Angela, but they had completely vanished.
"Why should I listen to you?" Angela snapped, shooting her a piercing look. "Go do your work, before this tea ends up on you." She threatened, waving her cup.
With nothing left to do, Vidalia clasped her hands, bowed slightly, and exited the room, hearing Angela laugh behind her. She bit her lower lip; Naya touched her cheek, probably flushed. Vidalia smiled at her friend and told her to hang on, then ran through the corridors, arriving breathless in the kitchen.
The staff didn't seem to notice her. She addressed the cook she knew best.
"Madame Caroline?" Vidalia called, tugging on her apron.
Madame Caroline stopped what she was doing, one eyebrow raised.
"Are big sister's guest snacks ready?" Vidalia asked, breathless.
"You're delivering them?" Caroline asked, glancing behind her. "Where are Lynn and Fiona?" She frowned.
So those were the other servants' names, Vidalia thought.
"I don't know," she said, shaking her head. "Could you give them to me? I'm accompanying Miss Angela." Vidalia's voice was as reassuring and confident as she could make it.
Time was pressing—the instructor would arrive in minutes, and Vidalia needed to be in the parlor preparing everything. Normally, she would just assist, but the others had chosen to vanish at the crucial moment. She sighed in relief when Caroline nodded with a calculating look.
"Here's the cart. Be careful not to break or spill anything," Caroline warned sternly. "Even if you work all your life, you couldn't pay for it." She rolled the cart gently toward Vidalia.
Vidalia examined the gleaming cart and the items arranged on it. The teapots were fine porcelain, adorned with delicate floral patterns and sparkling gilding. Matching cups, with finely carved handles, rested on coordinating saucers. Polished silver tiered trays displayed pastries and sandwiches elegantly. Crystal cake stands, topped with blown-glass domes, showcased desserts.
Vidalia swallowed. Caroline was right—a single scratch, and her stepmother would have her head. She nodded and pushed the cart carefully. It was taller than her. She sighed. Thankfully it's not too heavy, she thought sarcastically.
Arriving in front of the grand doors of the parlor, prepared for Angela's nobility lessons, Vidalia noticed a woman who seemed particularly angry, and she immediately knew who it was. A cold sweat ran down her back as she approached slowly, accompanied by the two previously missing servants, who walked nervously beside her.
Either they had gone to fetch her at the entrance or met her along the way. Vidalia exhaled shakily. This family really acted like royalty. Elysia, who seemed to live in high society, was digging her own grave. Vidalia could laugh—but her head would roll if anything went wrong.
Vidalia admired the Lady as she walked gracefully down the hall, her green forest silk Victorian gown adorned with golden thread patterns matching her brooch, pinned proudly on her left chest. Her brown and graying hair, tied in a tight chignon, held a hairpiece matching the brooch. She held a fan made from the same fabric as her dress, folded in her hand.
Vidalia snapped out of her daze as the sound of heels stopped.
She greeted the Lady who had arrived at the door, though her mind had been elsewhere. She wanted to scold herself but didn't have time. Minor flaw: Vidalia didn't know proper servant etiquette. She quickly remembered the name at the last second.
"Good day, Madame Elva," Vidalia said, bowing deeply, nearly dizzy.
Vidalia didn't wait for a reply and gently pushed the door open for her to enter. Before she returned to the cart, Madame Elva called her.
"Girl, you are a servant, correct?" Vidalia nodded. "Then learn the proper etiquette."
Vidalia felt her cheeks warm. The two girls behind her giggled into their palms. Naya fumed, preparing to intervene, but Vidalia stopped her just in time. She wanted to avoid further embarrassment and simply nodded.
"Good. Then begin," said Elva, sitting on the middle sofa.
Vidalia's eyes widened and her mouth went dry. She couldn't believe what she had just heard. She opened her mouth to refuse, but someone beat her to it.
"Madame Elva, if I may," said one of the girls, "a poor servant cannot waste your precious time."
Madame Elva gave her a cold look. The girl snapped her mouth shut with a pop and stepped back, saying nothing more. Vidalia admired Madame Elva—she had silenced her with just a look.
"Waste my time?" Elva raised an eyebrow. "Your young lady should have been present ten minutes ago. Etiquette demands that the host welcomes her guest, but norms dictate that the young receive the elder." Madame Elva seemed ready to leave.
"To think I had hope… but I suppose it runs from mother to daughter," she said, opening her fan to cover half her face.
Madame Elva had taught Elysia? Vidalia couldn't believe it—this viper had received lessons in etiquette? Impossible.
Elva looked at Vidalia with piercing, calculating eyes. Vidalia straightened immediately, averting her gaze, hands twisting nervously in her skirt.
"No, no, my little one," Madame Elva said gently, shocking everyone with her soft voice. "Your posture is straight, but your hands should be positioned along your sides." She guided Vidalia to follow.
Vidalia obeyed without question.
"Well done," Elva praised. "Shoulders straight but relaxed. This posture applies when a young lady sits as well; just tilt your feet to the side," she explained, demonstrating gracefully.
Vidalia recalled her former life. Madame Elva taught like her favorite high school teacher. She smiled nostalgically. Madame Elva was among the few who weren't directly cruel to her.
Naya settled comfortably on her shoulder, imitating her posture with a haughty expression, making Vidalia smile.
"What is your name, my little one?" Elva asked.
"V-Vidalia, Madame," she replied, slightly confused.
"Vidalia," Madame Elva smiled. "We will now learn how to serve tea, and the proper greeting." Her face was welcoming. Vidalia grinned brightly and nodded, approaching the cart.
"I want to hear you, my girl."
"Yes, Madame!" she replied joyfully.
Vidalia had no trouble serving someone like Madame Elva, she accepted the instructions wholeheartedly. Throughout the next hour, Madame Elva never questioned her veil.
Vidalia smiled at Elva's conspiratorial expression, thinking the rumors in high society would be juicy this week.
The impromptu etiquette lesson went far better than Vidalia could have imagined. Madame Elva had rare patience and kindness, especially in a household where servants were often treated like furniture. After an intense hour of lessons, Vidalia felt almost ready to face any social situation, even if a hint of apprehension remained.
The parlor door suddenly opened, revealing Angela, scowling, her face still marked by anger. Her eyes blazed with contained rage, staring at Vidalia with barely concealed hostility. Vidalia straightened instinctively, Madame Elva's instructions echoing in her mind.
"Excuse me, Madame Elva," Angela said, forcing a smile. "I'm sorry for being late. I had some urgent matters to attend to."
Madame Elva, unfazed, nodded. "I see. However, it is crucial to understand the importance of punctuality and greeting, especially in circles as elevated as your family's."
Angela nodded, eager to end the subject. "Yes, of course. Thank you for your understanding."
Vidalia watched discreetly, fascinated. Angela had always been spoiled, accustomed to everything revolving around her. Seeing someone subtly put her in her place was a novelty.
The etiquette lessons finally began, with Angela seated opposite Madame Elva, attempting to mask her irritation. Vidalia stayed in the shadows, observing closely and assisting when necessary. Madame Elva, despite her firmness, made each correction constructive, and even Angela could not deny the wisdom of her words.
After an hour, the tension eased slightly. Angela, though still tense, showed signs of effort. Vidalia, meanwhile, absorbed every moment, knowing this knowledge could be valuable one day.
When the lesson ended, Madame Elva turned to Vidalia and Angela. "Very well. I think we made good progress today. Vidalia, don't forget what you learned. Angela, continue practicing, and remember that true grace comes as much from the heart as from posture."
Angela nodded, forcing a smile. "Thank you, Madame Elva. Your guidance is invaluable."
Madame Elva stood and headed for the door, pausing to look at Vidalia. "Vidalia, keep working hard. Your potential is evident, and with perseverance, you can accomplish much."
Vidalia felt her cheeks warm beneath her veil. "Thank you, Madame Elva. I will do my best."
Madame Elva left the room, leaving a slightly less tense atmosphere. Angela, however, immediately turned her cold gaze back to Vidalia.
"Don't delude yourself," she spat. "You remain a servant, and your place is at my feet."
Vidalia met her gaze, determined not to be intimidated. "Yes, big sister," she replied softly, bowing to play her role without showing weakness.
Angela turned away with an exasperated sigh, returning to her affairs. Vidalia felt strangely invigorated. Madame Elva's words of encouragement echoed in her mind, giving her the strength to keep moving forward despite the challenges.
Vidalia ended her day with unexpected satisfaction. Her encounter with Arzhel had brought a new light to her life, and now, she had the blessing of a respected mentor like Madame Elva. As she prepared for bed, a smile spread across her lips. She was no longer alone, and though many trials awaited her, she was ready to face them with determination.
Night fell over the Sullivan manor, and Vidalia, lying on her modest bed, felt a wave of calm wash over her. She closed her eyes, thinking of her new friends—Arzhel and Sorel—and the unexpected encouragement from Madame Elva. Whatever the future held, Vidalia was ready to fight for her place in this world.
To Be Continued…