Special Story 6

It was one of those bright, sunlit days. When Vivian finally woke up late in the morning, she looked around. Her body clock told her it was nearly noon, but the room was still cloaked in darkness.

“Oh, come on. I told him not to do that.”

It was obvious Armin had drawn all the blackout curtains before leaving so as not to disturb her sleep. A small smile crept onto Vivian’s lips.

Just then, a knock sounded from outside. Vivian called out loudly for them to come in.

“Good morning, Lady Vivian.”

“I know it’s not morning anymore.”

Vivian gave an awkward smile to the servants of the duchy, who always greeted her with a “good morning” no matter the hour, sparing her embarrassment. As the maid pulled open the blackout curtains, warm midday sunlight poured in through the window.

Vivian blinked quickly against the strong sunlight.

“What time is it now?”

“Around one o’clock, my Lady. The madam asked us to check if you were still asleep. Would you like to rest a bit longer if you’re still tired?”

“No, I do have a conscience, you know. I’ll get up now.”

Vivian had expected it to be late, but not quite this late. She climbed out of bed with a sheepish expression.

“You’ve been sleeping quite a lot lately,” one maid remarked with a smile. At her words, Vivian began counting on her fingers, trying to calculate just how much she’d been sleeping lately. As the maid had said, her days were practically steeped in sleep.

“You probably don’t want a full meal right after waking up, do you?”

Vivian nodded. Lately, she had very little appetite. The smell of meat—which she used to enjoy—was now enough to make her lose interest in food altogether. Even amid her lazy days of sleeping to her heart’s content, she seemed to be losing a bit of weight.

As if she had already expected that response, the maid replied smoothly.

“So we’ve prepared some fruit. The ones you said you were craving yesterday.”

“Fruit?”

Vivian’s face brightened at the word.

“Fruit? I think I could eat that. Bring it now. I want some right away.”

“Of course. I’ll get it prepared immediately.”

Still dressed in her soft pajamas, Vivian promptly sat at the table. Before long, fresh fruits of every kind were placed before her.

Now that she had overcome the awkwardness of newlywed life with her husband, Vivian’s days were nothing short of bliss. It was the very picture of a carefree, idyllic paradise.

Grapes, peaches, strawberries—though Vivian usually picked at her meals like a bird, she seemed to have no problem enjoying fruit. She’d eaten quite a bit of it the day before, yet showed no signs of growing tired of it, eating with surprising speed.

“If you’d like more, I’ll bring it right away, Lady Vivian.”

“No, I’m good. I’ve eaten enough to be full.”

“Then is there anything else you’d like?”

“Hmm…”

“Please don’t hesitate to ask. Everyone’s worried since you haven’t been eating well lately. If you asked for it, the chef would probably try to hunt down dragon meat himself.”

“Then could you make me some lemonade again today?”

“Lemona…de?”

The maid’s expression darkened instantly—clearly hoping that wouldn’t be the request.

“Yup!”

Oblivious to the maid’s inner dread, Vivian beamed and nodded.

“With lots of lemon—super sour. And mix in sparkling water so it’s sharp enough to rip my throat apart.”

At her intense description, the maid managed an awkward laugh.

“A-ha-ha… Yes. I’ll go let the chef know, Lady Vivian.”

***

The head chef asked again, his face full of disbelief.

“She really said that?”

“Yes,” the maid replied.

“Ha… unbelievable. She’s hardly eating anything, and now she wants something like that? Her stomach must be on edge.”

The chef cast a worried glance at the maid and asked, “Has she mentioned any kind of stomach discomfort or anything like that?”

“No, not at all. She said it was delicious and that she could drink several glasses.”

Lately, the quantity of lemons delivered to the Grey Duchy had surged noticeably. It had started right around the time the Young Duchess, Vivian, began to lose her appetite for regular meals.

“She didn’t mention wanting anything else?”

It wasn’t just a matter of taste—asking for a drink this sour, every single day, wasn’t something the chef could ignore. The maid sighed deeply.

“That’s the only thing she wants. Honestly, I think we’ll have to let the madam know.”

“I think so too. This is serious. She’s barely eating, and yet she keeps asking for things like this…”

At least for today, there was no choice but to prepare what Lady Vivian wanted. The chef also let out a heavy sigh of concern as he sliced a lemon in half.

***

Meanwhile, Vivian was in that room again. The moment she opened the door, a wave of fragrant floral scent greeted her. The room was filled with rare and expensive blooms, regularly replenished by a merchant guild to ensure not a single flower wilted in its vase.

Humming a tune, Vivian perched on the long navy sofa.

“Mmm hmm, mmm-hmm-hmm.”

Sitting with her knees tucked up, she picked up the book she had left unfinished the day before. A messy pile of books towered over the small sofa table beside her.

Barely a moment after she opened her book, a maid entered carrying lemonade. She set the glass down on the table and asked hesitantly,

“Um… milady?”

“Yes? What is it?”

“If it isn’t too much trouble, may I tidy up this room a little?”

To the maids—whose livelihood and pride lay in cleanliness and order—this room was a constant source of frustration. The towering stacks of books begged to be returned to their rightful place on the shelves.

But Vivian refused without hesitation.

“No! It’s fine.”

“But if we tidy up a bit, it might be easier for you to find the books you want…”

“Nope. There’s order in chaos, you know. It might not look like it, but this is organized in my own way, so it’s really okay.”

Smiling, Vivian seemed oblivious to the maid’s inner turmoil.

‘Marriage… I knew it would be nice, but still…’

Her lips curled skyward as she waved at the retreating maid who backed off without protest.

Before marriage, things had been different.

No matter how much she begged to be left alone, Michelle would tidy her room anyway, claiming that since the Viscountess was the one paying her, her word took precedence. And Vivian’s parents—forever dissatisfied with their bookish daughter—would push her to attend social functions as if paying taxes once her reclusive tendencies reached their limit.

But after marriage, everything had changed for the better.

No one touched her delightfully messy room. She no longer had to endure any social obligations. She lived with her favorite author—who was now family—and the cheerful Duke seemed genuinely delighted to have someone to banter with.

And then there was Armin.

He was the first man Vivian had ever loved who wasn’t a fictional character or a blood relative.

As thoughts of Armin filled her mind, a flush crept back onto her cheeks.

Since that night, she had fully adapted to newlywed life.

The reason she couldn’t wake up early in the mornings? Entirely Armin’s fault. Staying up through the night and still waking up fresh and sharp—Armin was clearly the odd one.

She had no energy left by night’s end. And it had been like that ever since that day. It had already been nearly a month.

Realizing how much time had passed, Vivian was startled.

“No wonder I’m completely out of energy.”

She had lost her appetite to the point that she could hardly eat at all. Even catching a whiff of food near the dining room made her stomach turn. At first, she had forced herself to eat despite the nausea, but after suffering a severe bout of indigestion a few weeks ago that left her vomiting everything up, she had decided to avoid proper meals altogether for the time being.

A doctor had come to check on her, but even he couldn’t pinpoint the exact cause. After much deliberation, his only conclusion was that her symptoms were likely due to fatigue and a weakened constitution.

“Well, I’m simply following the doctor’s orders,” she told herself.

Let the patient rest in peace, provide anything she feels like eating, even if it’s not a proper meal—those were the doctor’s instructions. Spending her days lounging and indulging herself wasn’t laziness, Vivian reasoned. It was recovery. She diligently rationalized her idle lifestyle as a kind of therapeutic convalescence.

The newspaper business had stabilized and no longer required her direct involvement. The novel market, now recognized as a profitable field, was drawing interest from various noble houses. Vivian could finally live the life she’d always dreamed of—as a full-time reader.

Of course, she still personally oversaw all publications of the Duke’s wife—better known to the world as author R.G. But aside from that, she could spend her days however she pleased.

And once her thoughts drifted in that direction, the memories of the previous night started to surface, curling in her mind like steam. Her body flushed at the recollection, and she took a long sip through her straw. Just as she’d ordered, the lemonade was intensely sour with a jolt of carbonated sharpness that felt like it might tear her throat.

“How strange.”

One deep gulp, and a third of the drink had vanished from the glass in an instant. Normally, Vivian didn’t even like sour fruits. She preferred sweet ones like peaches or strawberries. But lemons? She used to salivate in discomfort just looking at them. Now she couldn’t get enough.

“How can something taste this good?”

She hadn’t touched tea or coffee—her former daily staples—for quite some time now. Instead, all she craved was lemonade, glass after glass. Even she found her sudden change in taste bewildering.

“Well…”

But Vivian brushed aside the concern with her usual nonchalance. If she kept resting like this, she was bound to get better eventually.

The Grey household’s physician was a highly skilled doctor. If it were anything serious, he would’ve diagnosed it long ago.

Taking another long sip of the refreshingly sour lemonade, Vivian turned the next page of her novel with bright, eager eyes.