Hold it in.
Coo!
If possible, try to endure it…
Coo coo coo!
If I wait just a little longer, Dad will come back.
In the meantime, secretly gather evidence while enduring this.
Coo coo!
“Shoo, pigeon, go away!”
As if I’m not already distressed enough, why is this pigeon adding to the noise and chaos?
I flailed my arms and lost my temper, but it was…
…useless.
The pigeon, perched on a tree much taller than me, casually groomed its feathers as if mocking me.
‘Why have pigeons been appearing so frequently around my house lately?’
Could there be a nest nearby?
“Young miss, what’s wrong?”
“The pigeon keeps cooing at me.”
“Really? Maybe the pigeon wants to be friends with you, young miss. Should we say hello to it?”
Following Betty’s lead, I weakly waved my hand in the pigeon’s direction.
I never thought being treated like a child everywhere would be this exhausting.
Ever since Yasmin started acting suspiciously, the attitude of the staff from the main house toward me has subtly turned sharper.
They seem to think of me as an easy child to mock, frequently making sarcastic remarks or pretending not to hear what I say.
‘And those eyes.’
The eyes that stick to me and Dietrich wherever we go, watching us like hawks.
Honestly, their persistence is unsettling to the point of being creepy.
Are these people even staff? Or are they special agents sent to monitor us?
“Why did you bring the young miss to the garden when it’s so windy today?”
The butler’s sharp voice pierced through my ears while I was absentmindedly watching the pigeon in Betty’s arms.
See what I mean?
They pop out of nowhere, as if their job is solely to monitor Dietrich and me all day.
“We haven’t been out for long, Butler. The young miss enjoys watching pigeons, so we just came out for a bit.”
As expected, our Betty!
She stands her ground no matter who the opponent is.
“Wild animals are rough and dirty. What if the young miss gets hurt while being so close to them? Can you take responsibility?”
“But that pigeon looks quite clean and well-behaved. Even though the young miss and I came this close, it didn’t show any sign of threat.”
Now that I think about it, that’s true.
I’ve been pacing back and forth under the tree, lost in thought, yet it didn’t seem threatening at all.
Though it cooed loudly, it seemed more like it wanted to grab my attention rather than intimidate me.
“You truly… don’t seem to know the proper way to address your superiors.”
The butler’s tone shifted.
It was a completely different, cold voice compared to when he used to bring us trampolines to win over Dietrich and me.
I quickly hugged Betty’s neck tightly to stop her from snapping back again.
Something feels off with the atmosphere among the staff from the main house lately.
Including the guards, there are now more people from the main house than the original staff who used to work here.
If a major conflict arises, who knows what might happen?
“Betty, I’m thirsty. Bring me some water.”
Betty, glancing back and forth between me and the butler, frowned once before abruptly turning away.
This behavior could hardly be called polite, but at least it wasn’t enough to get Betty punished.
Feeling slightly reassured, I hugged Betty tightly and was being carried along when I noticed the butler approaching the tree where the pigeon was perched.
I expected him to doggedly follow us, watching our every move as usual, but why was he heading there instead?
‘Wasn’t he here to fetch me?’
The last thing I saw before the front door closed was the silhouette of the pigeon descending onto the butler’s outstretched hand.
Seriously, the same person who lectured Betty and me about the dangers of wild animals was now…
‘A pigeon?’
Lately, pigeons have been flying around our house far more frequently than usual.
Until now, I hadn’t given it much thought, but the pigeon I saw today seemed far too tame, as if it was used to human interaction.
And then there was the butler, extending his hand toward such a pigeon.
‘…Could it be a homing pigeon?’
In the world I lived in before, I had only encountered such a term in books and never imagined it being used as an actual means of communication.
“Betty.”
“Yes, young miss?”
“I want to write a letter. How do I send one?”
“A letter? Who do you want to write to all of a sudden?”
It couldn’t be anyone nearby, of course.
But to test whether it was possible to send a letter via homing pigeon instead of a courier, I’d need to address it to someone far enough away.
‘The first person that came to mind was the old butler who went to a care facility, but his hometown is too far.’
After ruling out various options, only one person remained who could justify my excuse to Betty.
Biting my tongue nervously, I replied,
“To Dad. Mariela wants to write a letter to him.”
“Oh my, our young miss is so thoughtful!”
It was just an excuse, but her reaction made me feel slightly embarrassed.
“Well, let’s see. Master is currently leading the Northern Army on the move, so we could send it via a courier, or… we could check if it’s possible to use a homing pigeon.”
“A homing pigeon?”
“You know that cute pigeon you saw earlier? If we give the letter to one of those friends, it’ll flap its wings and deliver the letter to your father.”
It seems homing pigeons are widely used in this world.
Could the new butler possibly…?
He might just be using it for personal matters. After all, he’s from Calena Castle, where he might have lots of family or friends.
‘But there’s always the slim chance.’
What if the butler was using the homing pigeon for another purpose?
Until Dad returns, I’m the master of this house.
A wealthy house filled with children—imagining all the risks, I couldn’t afford to let my guard down.
“Should I fetch some stationery for you, young miss?”
After carrying me to my room, Betty asked politely.
Instead of replying immediately, I crossed the room and approached the window to peer outside.
As expected, from this spot, I could clearly see the butler’s office.
Beyond the flowerbed my mother had made for me was the butler’s office.
From the high vantage point of my room, I had a clear view of it.
If he received a pigeon, he would likely return to the office to either check it or write and send something in return.
“Hmm, I’ll sit here to write my letter.”
“Then I’ll move the table closer to the window for you.”
What a perfect spot.
Seated in the spot Betty had moved me to, I repeatedly bit and released my lips while keeping an eye on the butler’s office.
Honestly, the best-case scenario would be that the pigeons suddenly appearing around the house weren’t homing pigeons.
The second-best case would be that the butler was simply a sentimental person who often wrote letters to his distant acquaintances.
“But young miss, you don’t even know how to write yet. How are you planning to write a letter?”
Betty placed luxurious, decorative stationery adorned with pressed flowers in front of me as I was lost in thought.
Only then did I realize that I couldn’t read or write in this world’s script.
“Oh, right. Since I can’t write, I guess I just won’t write a letter after all…”
Since the letter was just an excuse to bring up the topic of homing pigeons, I could use my inability to write as a reason to cancel the idea altogether.
Thinking that, I was about to ask Betty to put the stationery back, but she clasped my hands tightly.
…Why were her eyes so tearfully earnest?
‘I really don’t feel anything about this.’
Writing a letter to a dad I’ve never even seen feels much more burdensome to me.
I wished she wouldn’t jump to conclusions on her own.
“Don’t worry, young miss. If you can’t write, you can just draw pictures. If Master receives a heartfelt picture letter drawn by you, he’ll definitely be touched!”
“No, I’m not…”
“Where are the crayons? Trust me! I’ll bring you a set of 152 crayons right away!”
“No, you don’t need to go that far…”
“Oh, do you need watercolors too? Or should I find some pastels for you?”
“…Just crayons will do.”
“Understood! I’ll bring them immediately!”
I really can’t even handle playing the role of a three-year-old properly.
Whenever the topic of my mom and dad comes up, everyone is so determined to cheer me up or help that I’m left with no words.
I only mentioned that I couldn’t write, but now, before me is a massive set of 152 crayons—so large that even spreading my arms wide wouldn’t be enough to hold it.
For a moment, I blankly stared at the pile of crayons.
‘What should I draw?’
I had only planned to write a quick greeting, but how did things end up like this?
