WTBHI 32

Chapter 32

“Ahhh!” Catherine screamed.

Gremory ruthlessly grabbed Catherine’s head, forcing her to look at her.

“You.”

“W-what? Who is this woman? Let go! I said let go!”

“You’re ugly. The way you caked makeup on your eyelids to look refined is weird too.”

“W-what did you say?”

“Pathetic, trying to act tough while clearly here to ruin someone else’s tea party. Showing up uninvited after memorizing the schedule? Creepy.”

Gremory yanked Catherine out of her chair exactly as she had done to others. Then—

“Get lost. This is my seat.”

—she threw Catherine to the floor.

The atmosphere froze instantly. The noblewomen at the table buzzed nervously—no one who crossed Catherine ever fared well.

House Ortegà, the most powerful of the Empire’s four ducal families. Catherine exploited this status to torment others relentlessly. Ruining parties and humiliating people at banquets were trivialities to her, so most either endured her temper or avoided her entirely.

But Gremory, who couldn’t care less about human nobility, showed no mercy.

“Get out. There’s no seat for you here.”

“You insolent—! Do you know who I am?!”

Catherine gnashed her teeth and swung violently at Gremory, who dodged effortlessly. Enraged at missing, Catherine spat:

“Ha! That black hair marks you as a witch-hunt survivor saved by the Grand Duke. Know your place, gutter trash. Living in his estate doesn’t make you nobility! How dare you—”

“Shut up, you creepy loser with nothing better to do than crash tea parties. You’d benefit from reading a book instead of embarrassing the Ortegà name.”

“!”

Gremory glimpsed Catherine’s memories—three years ago, she and Isollen had fought viciously over Cheshion.

‘A battle with no real winner. Though Isollen came closer.’

Cheshion had never spared Catherine a glance. Whenever she mustered courage to approach him, he’d coldly detach her with brutal politeness: “I don’t keep company with those lacking ‘grace.’” The words left deep scars.

And that rage now targeted Isollen, who’d stood by Cheshion’s side. Today’s disruption was Catherine’s petty revenge.

But Gremory wouldn’t let this ruin Isollen’s hard work.

“Your awful personality is why no one genuinely cares for you. Just leeches clinging to the Ortegà name.”

“How dare you judge me, you lowborn black-haired—”

“Still hung up on hair color? Call someone ‘black-haired’ nowadays, and you’ll be laughed at as backward. Witches ‘don’t exist’ anymore—how pathetic to still harp on it.”

Gremory tilted her chin up disdainfully. Catherine faltered; only Cheshion had ever looked at her with such contempt.

“Y-you— How dare you look down on me?!”

“Nothing ‘graceful’ about your words. More like a street thug than a duke’s daughter.”

“!!”

Catherine’s face twisted at the triggered trauma. Isollen’s lips curled as the other ladies stifled giggles.

“Leave before I call Cheshion to witness this.”

“…Hah! Why bother His Grace? I just dropped by a friend’s party while passing. Unlike you, I’ve no time to waste on lesser beings!”

Adjusting her disheveled dress, Catherine stormed out, muttering vague threats.

Gremory sipped her tea as if nothing happened.

The ladies whispered worriedly to Isollen,

“Is this alright? It’s satisfying, but what if Catherine retaliates at future events…?”

“It’s fine. As long as Mori’s with me. And if she harasses you, tell me—I’ll bring Mori immediately.”

Isollen grinned, arm-in-arm with her “Catherine Repellent.” The ladies soon burst into relieved laughter.

“Mori, you were amazing! I never thought I’d see Catherine make that face!”

“Ah, I feel so unblocked. Mori, attend more parties! With you here, Catherine won’t dare ruin things.”

Gremory smiled faintly, pride swelling in her chest.

As the tea party continued, Isollen grew closer with the ladies—bonded by their shared dislike of Catherine. They chatted freely, though much of their gossip lost Gremory.

“Ortegà’s mines discovered a new mineral—sparklier than diamonds but cheaper. Craftsmen are obsessed.”

“Jewelry trends will shift overnight. Oriennite, was it?”

“Ugh, everything good comes from Catherine’s family.”

“Now she’ll gloat for weeks… Exhausting.”

“Relax. If she oversteps, Mori will handle it.”

Humans and witches both love shiny things, Gremory mused. The lively chatter reminded her of witch gatherings—just with different topics.

Then Lady Lillian brought up something intriguing:

“So, I’m dating the third son of House Ovieton.”

“What?! The handsome one? How’d you manage that?!”

“Persistence! Letters, embroidered handkerchiefs, playing coy~”

Love. The table erupted. Gremory observed them like an alien.

Why this obsession?

She knew of love—demons fed on the pain of twisted human love. But…

Is it just kissing and physical intimacy?

The question lingered even after the party.

Back in her room, Gremory asked Iris:

“Hey, ghost.”
Yes, witch?

“What’s love?”
You’ve called it ‘lip-smashing and bodily mingling’ before.

“Beyond that. The ladies mentioned letters and handkerchiefs—is that love too?”
The sentiment behind those gifts is love.

“So what’s the sentiment?”

Iris pondered how to explain to this dense witch, then found the perfect analogy:
Think of your favorite blanket. Just imagining its softness makes you happy, right?

“…Maybe.”
‘Maybe’? Your smile reaches your ears.

“So love is… a blanket?”
The person who makes you smile like that is love. You crave their presence, shared moments… and yes, sometimes nighttime mingling.

“Hmm.” Gremory nodded—it made sense.

Have you never felt that way?

“I have.”
When?

“When your brother pats my head.”