Collector’s Cage - Epilogue 1

`Epilogue`

The Ozette Manor, filled with expensive artworks and rare curios, required much upkeep because of them. One could never truly know how much meticulous care it took to manage them without causing damage until one tried.

It was no easy task, but taking one’s time to examine and tend to beautiful objects brought its own kind of enjoyment.

Hermie, now the manager of Ozette Manor, was finding deep satisfaction in her work.

“It’s a clock over 200 years old. They say it belonged to the last king of a now-extinct kingdom. You must dust the surface with ostrich feathers so it doesn’t get scratched.”
“How did they paint such an intricate portrait in such a small space?”
“They say she was a woman the king truly loved. A concubine he hid away, never showing her to anyone.”
“He carried a portrait of his concubine with him?”

Admiring the portrait of a beautiful woman painted on the clock, smaller than her palm, she continued cleaning. Immersed in her work, listening to the secret histories behind the pieces the collector had painstakingly gathered, she often lost track of time and stayed well past her finishing hour.

If she was even a minute late leaving work because she was engrossed, a servant would come running, pale-faced.

“Miss Hermie! Marquis Froy has finished for the day. You must go to him right away!”
“It hasn’t even been five minutes.”

The time showed 3:05. Hermie, blessed with good fortune, was permitted to work only from 10 AM to 3 PM—just five hours. And since she had to have lunch with Froy in between, her actual working time was barely three hours. She truly felt how lucky she’d become.

“It has been five minutes.”

Since it was the servant who got an earful when Hermie was late, he stamped his feet impatiently, urging her to hurry up as she dragged her feet.

“I’m going. Stop rushing me.”
“He’s very angry.”
“He’s just pretending to be angry.”
“You’re the only one who thinks that, Miss Hermie.”

Pushed along, she hurried back to the room to find Froy inside, legs jiggling, his face full of discontent.

“You’re ten minutes late.”

He tapped his wristwatch with a fingernail, acting strict.
That grump. Hermie approached him with a bright smile. She sat on his lap, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed his pouting face.

“Did anything happen today? I heard Count Jobern visited.”

As she affectionately cooed at him, his prickly expression melted instantly. Then, he too kissed Hermie’s forehead and the bridge of her nose, a sly smile on his face as he placed a hand on her waist.

“Something did happen.”
“What?”
“I remembered the ‘studying’ we did in the drawing room and almost messed up.”

Hermie narrowed her eyes and glared at him. Froy met her gaze and flashed an innocent, pure smile.

“I think we need to review.”
“Why would we do that?”
“I couldn’t quite remember the exact sound you made during your third climax on the drawing room table.”
“You’re insane, stop saying things like that.”

Hermie hit his chest with a disgusted look. How dare he say such things with the face of a pure student. What was even more infuriating was that while he wore a bright, beaming smile, his hands were moving with lecherous intent.

“Take your hand out.”
“I had a hard day today. Comfort me.”

All he did was review some bidding contracts. She knew full well he’d met Count Jobern, yet here he was, acting spoiled. But every time, Hermie found herself succumbing to this transparently needy act.

“What was so hard about it, then?”

She gently stroked his thick hair and hugged his firm shoulders.

Since discovering that he, who appeared perfect and without a flaw, harbored a rather painful past, she had become even more susceptible to his whims. She had also learned why he was obsessed with fairies. He said he’d wanted to have an eternal friend like the one in the fairy tales his mother used to read to him. How pitiful and heartbreaking.

Hermie embraced all of it—the sudden accidents he’d suffered, the cruel family history. Even before hearing those stories, she had understood Froy’s extraordinary obsession, but knowing the full context made her even more accepting.

And Froy, leaning on Hermie’s understanding, indulged in being spoiled to his heart’s content. He, who would never reveal any hint of complaint or inner hardship to others, behaved like a pampered child with her.

To the extent that he would run to Hermie to show her even if the edge of a paper cut his fingertip.

“Jobern called me a madman. He cursed at me, told me not to live my life like that.”