The Tidal Wave That Seized My Walls - Chapter 4

“Fine.”

“But I still don’t understand why we should stop looking for her.”

“She was already a dead woman anyway.”

“Even if she’s dead, shouldn’t we at least recover her body?”

I rolled my eyes as I watched the two of them. Wasn’t watching a fight the most entertaining spectacle of all? I reached out for a drink, and someone placed a cup in my hand. Glancing to the side, I saw Sandora—the girl whose plate remained untouched. She hadn’t laid a finger on anything on the table.

“Raising my daughter like a beast, while her own daughter was raised here like a princess. No matter the motives, no matter the circumstances—I don’t care if she’s a relative, a niece, or whoever that woman is.”

“Shi-shi.”

Just as I reached for another piece of the bird, my chair screeched and slid back. The red-haired noblewoman shot me a look, pressed a hand to her forehead as if exasperated, and strode away. I reluctantly set down the wing I had grabbed.

“Iyara.”

The old man’s hand, which had been resting over his brow, picked up the wing I’d dropped and placed it in front of me.

“Eat as much as you want.”

I shoved the wing into my mouth. Even though I could feel my stomach straining, I couldn’t stop. While everyone else pretended not to notice, my hands were the only ones darting across the table—grabbing this, snatching that, drinking from the soup bowl when I meant to sip water.

Amid my mindless feast, only the old man watched patiently.

“Grandfather.”

The sound of a chair scraping back signaled Sandora rising to her feet. The girl fidgeted slightly as she spoke.

“Class is about to start. May I be excused?”

The old man gave a slight nod. His gaze, which had briefly followed Sandora, swiftly returned to me—piercing. He studied me as I licked the seasoning from my fingers.

“Iyara.”

“Yes.”

“You should go along as well.”

“Huh?”

Sandora, who had been about to leave, froze mid-step. I wiped my sauce-stained lips on my white sleeve.

“Go where?”

“To class.”

I chewed the last bits of food in my mouth and glanced at Sandora. Her face had gone pale.

“Do I really have to?”

The idea of learning anything was revolting. I had whined endlessly back when I was forced to study just to learn how to swindle people. And the moment I could read just enough to get by, I quit.

But the grandfather’s kind expression turned stern.

“You really must.”

Was I even in a position to refuse? I was like a skylark perched on the edge of a blade—still afraid that any moment, they’d realize I wasn’t the right child and cast me out. When you really thought about it, the only things we shared were eye and hair color.

Happiness was intoxicating, but losing it hurt twice as much. I made sure not to hope too much.

Sandora turned her back and walked away the second I stood up. Keeping my distance, I followed after her.

I still wanted to eat more.

Guess I’ll have to pack some food to sneak up tomorrow.

* * *

The class schedule was fixed, I was told. The teacher was notoriously strict—latecomers weren’t even allowed to step foot inside. So here I sat, dragged in without even a chance to change my clothes. Someone had wiped the sauce from my lips, but the stained sleeves remained.

Suddenly, I wanted to crawl into a mouse hole and hide. I hadn’t understood a single word since this began. My hair was a mess, my lips chapped. There was no way I’d made a good first impression. Only Sandora, glued to the teacher’s side, answered like a parrot. How could I, who’d just arrived yesterday, respond fluently? Unless the lesson was about pickpocketing without brushing against someone’s backside, I was lost.

“Your name was Iyara, wasn’t it?”

The teacher was a woman who looked every bit as severe as her reputation—every strand of hair pinned back with ruthless precision. Ah. Here it comes.

“Teacher.”

Then Sandora stepped forward, blocking her path.

“She doesn’t know anything yet.”

Sandora’s cascading curls were mesmerizing, so perfectly arranged it seemed unfair. Her fingers, her tone, her skin—everything about her was delicate. And to think she even had a kind heart… wasn’t that just unfair enough to make a person’s stomach churn?

“Sandora.”

Just when I thought the teacher might let it go, she pressed Sandora back into her seat.

“Do you think leaving her ignorant will really do that child any good? If you truly care for your family, you should ask me to discipline her and teach her.”

I blinked. For my sake? No one had ever spoken of hitting or teaching me for my own good before. The teacher had grasped one thing correctly—my mind wasn’t particularly sharp. But instead of criticizing my intellect, she targeted my attitude. My lack of drive, my apparent apathy.

Yet I was the awkward intruder here. Plucked from nowhere overnight, showered with bewildering hospitality. That was the problem—this luck was too dizzyingly sweet. How was I supposed to accept it? What if I hoped, only to crash? What if I loved, only to be hated? Until everything was laid bare, I refused to hope. Refused to love.

Back in the alleyways, we were all the same. Just a bunch of hungry kids lying around, bragging about what we’d stolen that day—this scrap of bread, that tattered shoe. There was no one to compare ourselves to. But here, standing next to Sandora, I felt so wretched I wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.

The teacher piled mountains of homework on me daily. And of course, no matter how hard I tried, the results were a disaster. History, mathematics—none of it held the slightest interest for me. But still, I found myself dragged back to my desk, haunted by the stifling atmosphere, the teacher’s sharp reprimands, and Sandora’s unwavering gaze fixed on me from the side. That shame burned worse than hunger ever had.

I didn’t know why I bothered. As I turned in assignments filled with wild, half-imagined answers, my mind kept circling back to Sandora—how effortlessly she recited facts, how brightly the teacher’s approval shone on her. Was it envy? Jealousy that if I’d been taught sooner, I might’ve earned that smile too? No. It wasn’t anything so noble. Just the bitter, gnawing resentment of someone who’d spent her whole life scrambling to survive while others were given everything. A resentment dredged up from the filth of my own inferiority.

* * *

The truth came at me when I least expected it. I didn’t want to open my eyes, but habit forced me awake. It was that infuriating hour of dawn when the crickets wouldn’t stop chirping. For the fifteenth night in a row, I’d tossed and turned until giving up on sleep entirely.

Maybe it was the way they’d stared at me during meals—like I was some kind of beast—or how I’d spent the afternoon nibbling cautiously under their watchful eyes. Whatever the reason, I was too hungry to sleep. I almost called for a maid, then decided against it and dragged myself up instead. Empty stomach growling, I crept down the stairs. I didn’t know where the kitchen was, but I was fully prepared to raid the servants’ dark, deserted quarters.

Slipping out the grand front door seemed too bold, so I headed for the servants’ entrance instead. Just as I was about to grab a few loaves of bread and make my escape, a familiar voice filled the hallway. Victory was within reach—just a few more steps, and I’d be out the back door.

‘Is it because of Sandora?’

The voice came from a room at the end of the hall, light spilling from beneath the door. If not for that name—if not for the fact it was her voice—I would’ve walked right past. I wasn’t the type to eavesdrop like some gutter rat. Yet before I knew it, I was pressed against the wall, holding my breath. The voices were low but sharp, every word piercing the silence. I understood all of it.

‘If you’re protecting that thief because of Sandora, then I want to tell you that you are mistaken.’

‘Shi-shi.’

‘She kidnapped my daughter. She raised my daughter as a filthy back-alley rat and gave everything my child should have learned… to Sandora.’

My ears rang with the razor edge of her voice. I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle a whimper, then slowly sank to the floor, replaying her words in my head.

‘What, is it because she was my brother-in-law’s woman? Is that why you’re shielding her?’

‘I’m saying nothing good will come from making this any bigger. Shi-shi.’

‘And how tearing that woman’s corpse “making it bigger”?’

Others had hinted at things, skirted around details—but when it came to Sandora, they always clammed up. Not that she was my sister. Not that we were related at all. So what were we? Why did her eyes always flick to Sandora when I handed in my botched homework? I knew nothing about this house, and my ignorance only fed my imagination. Lately, I’ve begun to wonder: Had they brought me here to replace Sandora?

“Ah.”

Without thinking, I turned—and barely swallowed the scream rising in my throat. My legs trembled as I stood. The shadow behind me took a step back.

Sandora stood there, her face still soft with sleep, tears streaming down her cheeks. The water cup in her hand suggested she’d come down thirsty. But her expression told me she’d heard everything.

Sandora was an enigma. One moment, she treated me with kindness; the next, she revealed a sharpness I couldn’t predict. She never meant to humiliate me, yet there were times—like when the teacher asked a question—she’d answer even when unnecessary. At first, I thought she was just quick-witted. It didn’t take me long to realize she was showing off.

I didn’t hate Sandora. I didn’t like her either. But I envied her—her silken hair, her perfect posture, the grace in her steps. Unlike my rough edges, she was gentle with everyone, her speech refined in a way I could never mimic.

Yet now, that same girl seized my wrist with startling roughness. She dragged me away from her room, shoved me into the servants’ kitchen, and—after ensuring we were alone—tore into me with a voice trembling in fury.