The Oblivious Saint Can't Contain Her Power: Forget My Sister! Turns Out I Was the Real Saint All Along! Volume 2 [Parts 1 to 7] by Almond

Author:Almond
Language: eng
Format: epub

(Carolina)

With no one willing to wait for the mood to resettle after our picnic had been so thoroughly disturbed, we trudged back to the villa. That night, as I lay in bed, my mind tirelessly replayed the day’s events. The first image that surfaced was of Marisa’s apologetic figure in the wake of her sister’s departure.

“I deeply regret my actions; please accept my sincerest apologies,” she had said, her head bowed in remorse.

Marisa’s sudden outburst had caught me off guard, and while it had surprised me, I couldn’t say I desired to punish her for it. True, her behavior was a stark departure from the expected decorum of a handmaiden, a role typically required to remain reserved and detached from private emotions, even at great personal cost. But before she had been a handmaiden, or even a fianceé, she was foremost a victim. As for Prince Edward and myself, neither of us could fault her for her actions. We’d simply acknowledged her apology with a nod, leaving unsaid whether we truly accepted it or not.

I turned over in bed, gazing out of the open window at the moon. The cool, gentle breeze of the night provided a soothing contrast to the heat of my thoughts. In the aftermath of her outburst, Marisa had appeared unburdened, almost serene, as if she’d finally cast away a weight she’d long carried. Clearly, the sentiments she’d expressed had been festering within her for years, and in that moment, she had found her release. While it was a minor act of retribution, insufficient to counterbalance the years of mistreatment, it seemed to have made an impact. Lady Marielle appeared utterly bewildered by her sister’s words.

“An act of retaliation towards her sister...” I murmured to myself. Before I even knew it, my thoughts had floated inevitably to Flora. They drifted to her beautiful padparadscha-sapphire eyes and the way they often glared at me with venom. They drifted to her shapely lips, and how they looked when parted to spew forth hatred. The feelings I harbored for this woman, lionized as the epitome of grace, were a complex mix of loathing, inferiority, and envy. Yes, even a woman like her possessed qualities I envied: her talent, her ability to flawlessly execute anything that was asked of her.

Yet this in no way excused her actions. Though she’d never resorted to physical violence, I grew up amidst her relentless teasing and bullying. The aspect of her behavior I loathed the most was her pretense of affection in public while she simultaneously worked to undermine my reputation.

Take for instance, a particular incident during which Flora had subtly belittled me in public. She’d said, “My dear sister is beginning to learn the cello. I’ve been assisting her as much as I can, but somehow, she just isn’t improving. Could it be that I’m not a good teacher?” A seemingly innocuous statement, but it had conveyed two things: one, that she was a skilled cellist capable of teaching, and two, that I was utterly lacking in musical talent.

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