Unlike typical women, Ophelia took very little time to bathe.
Klein was still in the third-floor laboratory organizing potions, putting back the glassware used that day and leafing through the experimental notes on his desk.
The ink hadn't fully dried yet, and the handwriting shimmered faintly under the candlelight. He had just placed the last test tube back on the rack when a knock sounded at the door.
"Come in," he said without looking up, assuming it was a maid with something to report.
The door was pushed open.
Klein was about to speak, but when he raised his eyes, the words caught in his throat.
Ophelia stood at the entrance.
She was wrapped in only a bath towel.
Her damp golden hair clung to her shoulders, and water droplets trickled down from the tips, soaking the edges of the towel. Moonlight slanted in from the hallway window, casting a hazy halo around her.
She stood with one hand behind her back, her posture perfectly straight and her waist taut. The fabric of the towel wasn't particularly wide, barely concealing what was necessary, but that was all. The lines of her collarbones were strikingly distinct in the candlelight, and a few stray droplets of water still hung on her shoulders.
Klein's fingers froze on his notebook.
He stared at the doorway for about half a second—no, perhaps a full second—and then immediately shifted his gaze elsewhere.
The alchemical arrays on the wall, the herb crates on the floor, the night sky outside the window—anything was fine, as long as it wasn't in that direction.
But his peripheral vision still uncontrollably captured fragments of the image: the wet hair pressed against her skin, the glimpses of her calves beneath the towel, and her ankles that stood firm even while barefoot.
Klein felt the tips of his ears beginning to burn.
"What... what is it?"
His voice was tight, sounding unnatural even to himself. He could hear the forced composure in his own tone.
Ophelia lowered her eyes, looked at the towel covering her, and then looked back up at him. "I do not have any clothes to change into."
Her tone was calm, as if she were reporting military intelligence, completely unaware of how... she looked right now.
Klein quickly cut off his own train of thought.
He blinked, only then realizing that the things she had brought with her were indeed pitiably few. Aside from the ornate imperial dress she had been wearing, there was likely only her suit of armor and her sword.
Klein hadn't seen exactly what was inside the trunk she brought, so he had overlooked this detail.
"I see..."
Klein kept his gaze pinned on the night sky outside the window, his fingers tapping on the edge of the desk. He struggled to get his thoughts back on track, trying not to think about the figure wrapped in a towel at the door.
Clothes suitable for Ophelia...
He ran through the layout of the manor in his head.
After his parents passed away, he was the only one left here. In the wardrobes upstairs and downstairs, besides his own robes and everyday clothes, there was only—
"Well," Klein cleared his throat, "there are no spare guest clothes in the manor."
He paused, his fingertips tapping the desk twice more, not daring to look back at her.
"However, the maids should have extra uniforms. Martha has a build similar to yours; you should be able to wear her clothes."
After saying this, Klein felt the air grow silent for a few seconds.
He couldn't help but turn his head slightly, his peripheral vision glancing toward the door.
Ophelia still stood there, the towel wrapped tightly. She looked down at the floor, water droplets still clinging to her eyelashes. The candlelight cast shadows across her face, making her expression hard to read.
But Klein could sense that she seemed to be hesitating.
"If you don't mind," Klein added, trying to keep his tone as natural as possible.
Ophelia looked up.
Moonlight slanted in from outside, and her golden pupils flickered in the shadows. There was a moment of hesitation in those eyes, but it quickly returned to calm.
"A maid uniform?" she repeated, her voice very soft, as if confirming she hadn't misheard.
"Yes," Klein moved his gaze back to the window, the tips of his ears still burning. "Just for now. When the maids return, I'll have them go to town to buy some suitable clothes. Don't worry, I'll have them buy the best fabric and find the best tailor—"
He realized he was nervously babbling.
Ophelia did not answer immediately.
The clock in the hallway ticked away; the second hand moved five spaces.
Klein could hear his own heartbeat overlapping with the rhythm of the clock. He didn't know why he was so nervous; it was just lending her some clothes.
"Very well," she finally said.
Her voice was as calm as ever, devoid of any discernible emotion.
Klein breathed a sigh of relief, yet felt a strange sense of loss—though he didn't know what he was losing.
"Then go back to your room and wait," he said. "I'll go get them for you."
Ophelia nodded, turned, and walked out of the laboratory.
The edge of the towel swayed between her legs, revealing her long, straight calves. Water droplets continued to fall, leaving a trail of wet marks on the wooden floor. Her silhouette gradually faded into the hallway light, her long golden hair appearing as if it were glowing.
Klein listened to her footsteps recede, but his gaze uncontrollably followed that figure until she disappeared at the end of the corridor.
Only then did he realize he had been staring.
Klein squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath.
"Calm down, Klein," he whispered to himself. "She just came to borrow clothes."
He waited for another dozen seconds to ensure the hallway was quiet before standing up to leave the laboratory.
The floorboards of the stairs creaked beneath his feet. He went down to the second floor and stopped in front of an unremarkable wooden door along the corridor.
This was the maids' room.
Klein pushed the door open. The furnishings inside were simple—two narrow beds, a wardrobe, and several wicker baskets piled in the corner. The air carried a faint lavender scent, a common fragrance used here.
Several small cabinets were arranged neatly in the room, each with a nameplate attached.
Klein found Martha's, opened the drawer, and saw two sets of neatly pressed black-and-white maid uniforms folded inside.
He pulled out one set. The fabric felt soft and clean in his hand, carrying a faint scent of soap. It consisted of a black dress, a white apron, and a matching lace headpiece.
Klein stared at the clothes in his hands for a few seconds.
An image uncontrollably surfaced in his mind: Ophelia wearing this maid uniform.
Long golden hair, golden pupils, paired with a black-and-white dress...
Klein shook his head vigorously, dispelling the inappropriate thoughts.
"Stop thinking," he whispered.
He clutched the clothes and walked quickly from the maids' room, returned to the corridor, and stopped in front of Ophelia's door.
He knocked twice on the wooden door.
"Come in," her voice came from inside.
Klein pushed the door open.
Ophelia stood in the center of the room, the towel still wrapped tightly. Her soaked golden hair had stopped dripping but still clung to her shoulders. She turned around, her gaze falling on the clothes in his hands.
Moonlight shone through the window, plating her in silver. Her skin shimmered faintly under the light, looking like a sculpture.
Klein made an effort not to look at places he shouldn't.
He walked over and handed her the maid uniform.
The fabric transferred from his hands to hers. Her fingers paused as they touched the edge of the garment. Her hands were still cold, and her fingertips carried moisture.
"This is all there is," Klein said, trying to make his voice sound normal. "It should fit. Martha's build is similar to yours."
Ophelia looked down at the black-and-white uniform in her hands and said nothing.
Her fingers brushed against the lace trim of the dress, her movements light as if confirming the texture of the fabric. A flash of... confusion appeared in her golden pupils?
"What is it?" Klein couldn't help but ask. "You don't like it?"
"No," Ophelia looked up. "It is just... I did not expect this kind of clothing."
Her tone was calm, but Klein could hear a subtle emotion within it. It wasn't resistance or distaste, but more like... she didn't know how to react.
"I'm sorry," Klein said. "There really is nothing else in the manor. Otherwise, I could give you my nightgown—"
"There is no need," Ophelia interrupted him. "This is fine."
She pulled the maid uniform into her arms, and the edge of the towel loosened slightly from the movement. Klein's gaze uncontrollably dipped for a split second before he immediately looked away.
He felt his face growing even hotter.
Klein stood there for two seconds, realizing he should leave. If he stayed any longer, he feared he might do something impolite.
He turned toward the door, and as his hand gripped the handle, he suddenly remembered something.
He pointed toward the incense in the corner of the room.
"If you have trouble sleeping, you can try lighting that."
He had heard that those returning from the battlefield inevitably suffered from psychological issues, so Klein had specifically prepared this in Ophelia's room. It was a soothing incense he had formulated himself, with effects far better than what could be bought on the market.
Ophelia looked in the direction he pointed.
"Thank you," she said. Her voice was still calm, but it held a trace more warmth than before.
Klein nodded, pulled the door open, and walked out.
The moment the door clicked shut behind him, he leaned against the wood and exhaled a long breath.
Only the ticking of the clock remained in the hallway.
Klein stood outside the door, looking at an oil painting on the opposite wall. It depicted the manor's scenery in spring, with roses in full bloom. But his thoughts were not on the painting at all.
His mind was replaying the scene from moments ago: the towel, the wet hair, the golden pupils, and those cold hands.
"Dammit," he muttered under his breath. "Klein, what are you thinking?"
He stood outside the door for a few more seconds before turning and heading toward the stairs.
His footsteps gradually receded, disappearing toward the third floor.
...
Inside the room, Ophelia stood before the mirror, looking at the maid uniform in her hands.
The black dress, the white apron, and the intricate lace trim.
She had never worn clothes like these before.
Military uniforms, formal dresses, armor—those were the only things in her wardrobe. A maid uniform? Such things only existed when she occasionally passed by the kitchens and saw those busy figures.
She let the towel fall and began to dress.
The fabric of the dress was very soft, its texture completely different from that of armor. It took her some time to figure out how the buttons and straps were supposed to be fastened; her movements were somewhat clumsy.
Finally, she stood before the mirror and looked at herself.
The black-and-white dress hugged her body, the apron tied into a bow at her waist. Her long golden hair was still somewhat damp, spilling over her shoulders and forming a sharp contrast with the black fabric.
She turned around, and the hem of the skirt traced a small arc in the air.
Ophelia stared at herself in the mirror for a long time.
The person wearing the maid uniform looked like an ordinary girl. Not a knight, not a hero, not the "Sword of the Empire."
Just an ordinary girl.
She raised her hand and touched the lace on the dress. The sensation of the fabric against her fingertips was unfamiliar, but not unpleasant.
...It does not actually fit very well.
Ophelia thought.
She stood before the mirror for a while longer before walking to the bed and lying down. The fabric of the dress wrinkled beneath her, feeling slightly uncomfortable. She adjusted her position, smoothing out the skirt.
Moonlight shone through the window, falling onto the bed.
Ophelia closed her eyes, but the images from earlier still surfaced in her mind: the way Klein's eyes had deliberately avoided her while handing her the clothes.
And the way the tips of his ears had turned red.
She shook her head.
Drowsiness gradually crept in, but just as she was about to fall asleep, those familiar images began to emerge.
...
...
The sound of waves crashing against rocks exploded in her ears.
Ophelia snapped her eyes open, her chest heaving violently.
The room was dark, illuminated only by the moonlight from outside.
Her fingers gripped the bedsheets, her knuckles turning white as the fabric bunched into a mess in her palms.
The hem of the maid uniform was pinned beneath her, already wrinkled beyond recognition.
It was that dream again.
The fog of the west coast was so thick it couldn't be dispersed, winding around her body like a living thing.
The shrieks of sea monsters swarmed from all directions, piercing her eardrums and echoing in her mind.
Those sounds didn't seem to be made by any living creature; they were more like an ancient curse that dragged anyone who heard them into the abyss.
Then there was the deeper place—beneath the seawater, that thing was writhing.
It had no shape.
It had no silhouette.
There were only countless tentacle-like shadows slowly stretching out in the deep sea.
Every tentacle was covered in eyes. Those eyes stared at her, as if watching, as if waiting.
Waiting for her to sink.
Waiting for her to be swallowed.
Ophelia's breath caught in her throat.
She could feel the icy seawater pouring into her mouth, the stinging pain in her lungs.
She sat up, cold sweat trickling down her neck and soaking the collar of the maid uniform.
She looked down and saw her left hand.
Her fingers were still trembling slightly.
She gripped her left wrist with her right hand, pressing down hard until the trembling stopped.
The sound of the clock came from the hallway—tick, tick—as if counting something.
Ophelia let go of her wrist, threw back the covers, and stood up.
The air in the room was stifling, carrying the scent of sweat and fear.
She walked to the window and pushed it open.
The night wind rushed in, carrying the scent of grass and trees, completely different from the salty, fishy sea breeze of the west coast.
The wind here was gentle and dry, without the shrieks of sea monsters or the malice of the deep sea.
Ophelia stood at the window, looking up at the sky.
There were many stars.
Far more than there were over the sea.
On the west coast, the sky was always obscured by fog; stars were never visible.
There was only endless gray and the occasional flash of lightning.
But here it was different.
The stars were like scattered diamonds, densely covering the sky.
The moonlight was bright, clearly illuminating the silhouette of the manor.
She stared at those stars for a long time until her breathing finally steadied.
But drowsiness and fatigue hit her like a tide, intertwining with her previous fear, making it hard to tell which was more agonizing.
Ophelia knew she needed sleep.
Her body needed rest, her wounds needed to heal, and there was training tomorrow—she could not let her condition affect her combat effectiveness.
...Only then will I not hinder tomorrow's training.
Her gaze fell on the incense in the corner of the room.
The object sat quietly on the shelf, shimmering dimly in the moonlight.
She didn't believe that a country nobleman could help her.
The nightmares of the west coast were not something ordinary incense could disperse.
Those things were rooted deep within the soul, merged with marrow and blood.
But she was willing to try.
At the very least, it was a gesture of his intention.
Ophelia walked over and picked up the matches nearby.
The sound of the match striking was exceptionally clear in the quiet room. The flame flickered, illuminating her fingertips.
The weak light wavered in the darkness, looking as if it might go out at any moment.
She brought the flame close to the wick of the incense, watching it slowly catch fire.
The flame was small but steady.
A faint fragrance began to permeate the room. It was a scent she had never smelled before—the fresh scent of herbs mixed with the sweetness of some flower, and a trace of medicinal aroma.
It wasn't strong or pungent.
It was very gentle, much like the master of this manor.
Ophelia extinguished the match and returned to the bed to lie down.
The blankets still held her previous body heat. She turned on her side, burying her face in the pillow.
The hem of the maid uniform rubbed against her legs, feeling a bit itchy, but she didn't change out of it.
The fragrance grew stronger, like botanical plants mixed with floral scents, slowly flowing through the room.
She closed her eyes, and her breathing gradually leveled out.
There was no dream this time.
The sound of the waves receded, and the shrieks vanished. The tentacles of the deep sea did not wrap around her, and those eyes stopped their gaze.
There was only the ticking of the clock and the occasional cry of a night bird from outside.
And the subtle sound of the incense burning, like a whisper, like a comfort.
Ophelia felt her body relax. Her tensed muscles, her trembling fingers, and the weight pressing on her chest were all slowly dissipating.
She drifted off to sleep just like that.
This time, she truly slept.
Moonlight fell upon the bed, upon her. The hem of the maid uniform rose and fell slightly with her breath, and her golden hair was scattered across the pillow.
Her expression was peaceful.
There was no furrowed brow, no gritted teeth, and no cold sweat.
Like an ordinary girl, sleeping soundly.
The incense continued to burn, its flame flickering and casting soft shadows against the wall.
The night was deep.
The manor was silent.
Only the clock continued to tick, counting the time, counting this peaceful night.
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