Silent Witch-Chapter es8: Extra Story 8: A Letter from My Mother

[To my dearest mother

The weather here was so frigid in recent days and most parts of our dormitory have been covered in ice. Because of it, His Highness' clothes are getting thicker and I was spending my days practicing to control my magic so that he won't feel cold because of me.

This year, I was able to choose Advanced Practical Magic as my elective course. For your information, Advanced Practical Magic can only be taken by those who have achieved excellent grades in the two subjects of Basic Magic and Practical Magic. However, I am very honored to have been recommended by my teacher and able to take the course successfully. I will devote myself day by day to eventually become a person who will not embarrass Marquis Highon as his successor.

Speaking of which, the Serendia School Festival season is approaching. I'm aware you're so busy, but I wish you could visit by. Marquis Highon also said that he would provide us with a carriage. Since this will be my last school festival. I will try my best to help His Highness, the student council president, in his wonderful leadership, in the hope you can enjoy the school festival as well.

Please take care of yourself, since the weather is getting colder lately. Also, I received chocolate made with the latest technology the other day. It tastes very good and warms you up when you melt it in milk. I have included the package in the letter so you can try it out yourself.

From your son.]

＊ ＊ ＊

There was a carriage pulling away from Serendia Academy, which was celebrating its school festival. The carriage was not ornately decorated, but it was well-made and carried the flag of Marquis Highon, one of the most prestigious noble families in the kingdom. In such a carriage, Myra Wayne sat with a shrinking body.

Myra was an ordinary woman in her mid-thirties. Her appearance which belonged to a commoner was hardly adequate to fit into this magnificent carriage. She was aware of this, so she sat hunched over, trying to reduce her presence in the carriage as much as possible.

The carriage was comfortable to ride in. It was incomparable to the cheap carriages on the streets. Even so, Myra couldn't help but feel her face tense.

Sitting across from Myra was a middle-aged man with dark hair and a mustache—A man of much higher status than Myra—Marquis Highon. To Myra, the fact that they were even now riding in the same carriage was hard to believe.

Marquis Highon opened his mouth while playing with his mustache as Myra looked at him with trepidation.

"To be honest, I never thought you'd ask me to bring you to attend the school festival… I didn't mean to imply that you'd be a nuisance."

Marquis stopped Myra, who reflexively tried to apologize, with a wave of his hand.

Myra has a habit of saying, "I am sorry, I am sorry," regardless of whether she is at fault or not. Her habit came from her late husband who would abuse her and raise his hand whenever he didn't like her. That's why Myra's gaze is always hovering around her feet, and if she looks up once in a while, she will unconsciously see someone else's face.

Even so, while Myra was looking at the complexion of him, Marquis continued his words with his blue eyes slightly down.

"I see you're having difficulty dealing with Cyril."

The Marquis' words struck her heart really hard. Myra's face contorted into tears, and she covered her face with her hands.

"…yeah, that's right. That boy was just too… much like his father."

Myra's late husband might have shared the blood of the Highon family, but it didn't mean its prestige would be shared down to him. And yet, he insisted that he was a member of that noble family… As a result, he became isolated from his surroundings, lost his job, and ended up drowning in alcohol before his death. And Myra herself has always been unable to stand having a son who looks so much like her late husband.

"Every time he proudly told me that he received the highest grade in school, I felt afraid he would end up like his father."

Perhaps, Cyril just wanted her compliment ever since he was young. He wanted her to praise him ‘Well done, you did a great job.' However, Myra was unable to say even such a commonplace compliment. She had a feeling that if she complimented him, he would grow up and become a proud person like his father.

"…I'm not expecting him to have a good grade. I just want him to be normal like the others… "

But Cyril was a brilliant and hardworking person. He kept striving, believing that if he worked harder, his mother would surely praise him. Eventually, Marquis Highon recognized his achievement, offered him financial support and adoption. At that time Cyril must have thought, ‘I'm sure my mother will praise me for this.'

However, Myra pushed Cyril away.

——I knew it, you really are from a noble family.

Myra still can't forget the hurt look on Cyril's face when she said those words to him.

"Lord Marquis, you asked me why did I ask you to bring me to the school festival when I have been stubbornly refusing to see Cyril? The truth is, I was planning to see his face for the last time today, and never see him again after."

Myra knew what kind of life her son was leading because she received letters from Cyril every month.

Cyril, who was chosen as the second prince's aide and became the vice president of the student council, was living a fulfilling student life. He had been behaving in a manner befitting a child of a noble family. People around him also expect him to do so.

Cyril was living as a respectable nobleman. And as a commoner mother like herself, she shouldn't get involved with him anymore.

—Or so Myra thought to herself.

"Today… I met a simple and docile girl… she complimented him a lot… and told me how kind he is… To think a girl like that had complimented Cyril so earnestly."

Myra sniffed once before squeezing out a faint voice.

"She even told me that the flower in her possession was given by him."

Each time Myra was crying after being abused by her late husband, the young Cyril always picked up a flower for her and said, ‘Mother, please don't cry, look at this beautiful flower, I'm sure you will feel better after looking at this.'

Cyril had always tried his best to please his mother in any way he could. And yet, Myra always rejected Cyril and never responded to any of his letters. Even the chocolate package he had sent to her a while ago hadn't been opened yet.

"…So when I heard that girl speak about Cyril, I finally realized. I had been too afraid to face the true nature of my son after having been haunted by the face of my late husband."

The Marquis glanced at the downcast Myra and muttered to himself.

"Since we first met, Cyril has been the kind of boy who craves approval. That's why he is so ambitious. Even when he realized that he was no match for Claudia, he didn't slack down but started learning magic to acquire his own unique weapon instead."

By the time Marquis realized his tendency to push himself too hard, Cyril had already developed a constitution that absorb mana abnormally after overworking his body in training. Cyril was so afraid at that time, thinking that he would be abandoned by the Marquis family. Of course, Marquis didn't intend to do that, so he asked the Seven Sages to create a brooch to discharge his excess mana.

"He may still be inexperienced, but he is diligent, hardworking, and ambitious. I expect him to follow in my footsteps in the future."

"Thank you so much…"

"But that doesn't mean I'm going to forbid him to see you, his own mother. Though I would let him if he wants to visit his birthplace, Cyril is always hesitant when I told him so… I guess he is still afraid that you will reject him."

Myra swallowed her words and Marquis said in a calm tone.

"You should write him a letter. The sooner you repair your relationship, the better."

＊ ＊ ＊

After arriving home, Myra draped her stole over the back of her chair and pulled out a package of chocolates that she had kept in the cupboard. Carefully opening the seal, she followed the instructions in the letter to prepare the chocolate. The chocolate tasted sweet and delicious. Its soft sweetness evoked her old memories.

"Mother, why does that man always hit you?"

"Cyril, you shouldn't refer to your father as ‘that man'."

"But, I don't understand. If I were him I would never raise my hand to someone I care about. I mean, If I see someone I cared about was crying or depressed I would make them something sweet and tasty to drink."

"Right. If you ever find a girl you like, I'm sure you'll do it for her."

Sipping a bit of the warm, sweet-smelling chocolate, Myra carefully scribbled out the words on the letterhead.

[If you have time during winter break, please come back home.

I'll make you your favorite stew.

Also, I would love to hear about your school life.

From your mother.

P.S. Thank you for the chocolate. It was delicious.]