Chapter 3: The Ceremony

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A new...
Unlucky soul?
“My name is William, William Collins.”
The woman fell silent for a moment.
The gas lamp was unscrewed.
She seemed to be waiting for Roland to continue speaking, but Roland was just as hesitant.
He didn’t know how to face this so-called ‘sister’ of his, and yet he feared she might say something even harsher—
The two of them were at an impasse for a while, until finally the woman couldn’t hold back:
“Come closer, a bit forward, let me see you.”
Roland trusted her words and stepped forward—only to trip over a chair lying on its side and fall forward.
With a loud thud, he bumped into the bedpost, his forearm burning with pain.
The room was once again enveloped in brief silence.
“…You can’t see?”
Perhaps it was just his imagination, but Roland heard a hint of guilt in her voice.
Oh, how novel.
This was nothing like the ‘Collins’ he had met on his journey.
“As you can see.”
Roland brushed his sleeve and arm and steadied himself against the bedpost. He had grown accustomed to this.
But this ‘sister’ of his...
“As I can see? From what I see, you’re probably not going to claim any inheritance.”
She managed a bitter laugh, panting, “And I never heard of having a brother.”
Roland’s voice was soft: “I never heard of having family either.”
He squatted down gently, then sat on the floor.
Tentatively, he began telling the woman on the bed his story—when she refrained from mocking him, he kept going, kept going.
Kept going.
Until he reached the part about receiving the letter.
A completely ignorant, harmless illegitimate child.
The difference between boy and girl—there was no real scheming for inheritance.
He bore no ill will, and likewise hoped not to become the target of others’ malice.
He just wanted to live peacefully.
So, as Yam had taught him: he could not blame ‘father’ or ‘sister’—at least... at least they had ‘remembered’ him after all these years?
What a truly praiseworthy character group they were.
“So, I came here, Miss Collins.” Roland guessed that perhaps his sincerity had moved the woman on the bed—she no longer sneered. “I am grateful to father... and to you.”
“You don’t need to flatter him in front of me.” The woman detected caution in Roland’s words, and the sharpness seemed to fade away. “...And you don’t have to flatter me, I have no—”
She wanted to say more to Roland, but the sound of footsteps interrupted them both, and they fell silent simultaneously.
Someone had arrived outside the door.
“Master Collins, are you in there?”
Roland heard Nina’s breath quicken suddenly.
“I’m coming out.”
He called out and, fumbling in the dark, stood up.

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“The butler said I would—”
But the woman on the bed no longer spoke.
......
Lunch was incredibly sumptuous.
The table was filled mostly with things Roland had never heard of or tasted.
A certain soft and dense type of sweet (he guessed) and pudding, juicy little meat patties, a sweet drink with a lingering fruity aroma on the tongue, bread far better than that at the poorhouse, and hot pies whose fillings he couldn’t quite identify...
A burst of vibrant flavors exploded in his mouth.
At this moment, the footsteps of the servants sounded like heavenly music to Roland:
Each time a step echoed, a new dish would appear before him.
The only trouble was the several rows of neatly arranged knives, forks, and spoons beside him—at least a dozen of them.
He couldn’t figure out what each was for.
But it didn’t stop him from eating.
Across the table, old Mr. Collins suffered greatly. He saw Roland’s manner of eating and lost all appetite.
That bastard was using a bread knife to cut meat?
That was already an unforgivable offense, and now he was about to drink soup with a dessert spoon.
His fingers even dipped into the soup bowl!
How long would he have to endure living under the same roof with this rude, uncultured lowborn blind man?
A month?
Or two?
“You need to teach him, Seth.”
Unable to contain his displeasure, Thales Collins picked up his napkin and lightly tapped the corner of his mouth that hadn’t even touched food.
“As soon as possible. I don’t want others gossiping: why does the Collins family allow an animal at the table?”
He ignored Roland completely, threw down the napkin, pushed back his chair, and stormed back to his room.
The dining room instantly fell silent.
Roland happily stuffed a slice of apple horizontally into his mouth from his fork, crunching gleefully.
His dusk-colored eyes blinked a few times, fixed on the tablecloth before him, never once moving.
Drawing blood himself...
Was it really that important, Mr. Collins?
After the meal, he was taken back to his room.
Seth emphasized to him:
He was not allowed to leave the Collins estate, not allowed to loiter near the front gate, not allowed to perform any dangerous actions on the balcony, not allowed... not allowed...
Not allowed.
In short, he was only permitted to be in his own room, Nina Collins’s room, and to move within limited areas on the first floor and the back garden.
Then, the butler Seth handed him a metal syringe.
The needle was thick, and the barrel seemed to be engraved with some emblem-like pattern—the design extended all around the entire syringe.
Cold, hard.
It felt expensive to the touch.

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“Money means nothing to the Collins family.” Butler Seth placed the syringe into Roland’s hand, his tone full of meaning. “You must do it yourself. The other servants can only guide you simply from the side...”
Do it yourself.
“Sir, is Miss Nina very... important to the master?”
“Quite important.” The butler answered.
Roland recalled the stench and filth that filled her room.
Quite important.
“I see.”
In the afternoon, when he came again to Nina Collins’s room, the woman still answered his knocks by smashing things.
Roland thought she must be too weak, or perhaps she feared that no one outside the door could hear her speak?
“I just want to smash things, you little fool.”
That was how Miss Nina Collins responded.
“I guess you’ve gotten that thing, right?”
“You mean, the blood-drawing...”
“Yes, that. At night, do as the servants tell you. Don’t ask what you shouldn’t. I figure you’re blind and must have more curiosity than most.”
Roland shook his head: “As long as it benefits you.”
The room fell into an eerie silence again.
This time it lasted longer than ever before.
Just when Roland thought she had fallen asleep, the patient on the bed suddenly said:
“What if it would hasten my death?”
The words were clearly spoken after careful thought, making the atmosphere tense.
Hasten death?
Roland was puzzled.
What did she mean?
Could this be... murder?
How could that be? Why would Thales Collins do such a thing?
Or did he not know?
The butler?
The servants?
Or the entire Collins estate...
But why?
Roland felt again that something was watching him from the darkness.
“You’re scared.”
Roland raised his face, sighed deeply, his palm stroking his forearm. Those rare eyes, tinted like twilight, were breathtakingly beautiful in the dim light:
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
Nina suddenly laughed, a sound like a sharp awl scraping iron: “William Collins, you need to consider your life.”
She said, “Once you step into the Collins estate, your life, mine, and that ritual become bound together...”