tains were heavy dark green.

To top it all off, the bed featured a large canopy.
The fabric was hanging from the bed in hideous taste, which made it unlikely to experience a restful sleep.
It seemed inconceivable for her to grasp her pre-amnesiac self.

In the corner of the soft bed, Bianca curled up into a small ball.
It was much more bearable in the open-air seaside mansion.

I wonder if this means I can redecorate my room.


The subsequent day, Bianca promptly sought medical attention.
She was diagnosed with memory loss.
She was informed that her memories may or may not come back.
No medication existed, nor was it clear what the outcome would be.

At the time, she was fine either way.

The doctor said, “Memory loss may produce a total shift in one’s personality as well,” to which her father reacted, “Can it make a person academically inferior or stupid?” That was his primary focus.

Having suffered a loss of memory, Bianca had no insight into what the affluent aristocrats’ thoughts were.
She wondered if there was such a thing as “I’m glad my daughter’s life was spared!”

In the seaside town, she had witnessed several simple family gatherings.
Yet there was no analogous rapport here.
Bianca racked her brain, wondering if this was the distinction between the aristocratic and commoner.


Afterward, without a moment’s respite, she was swiftly introduced to the tutors.
Although they subjected her to various tests, she was not given the results.

When she recollected the letters, she could read all of them but had no academic knowledge retained, so she could not grasp the terminology.

The infernal week commenced.
The tutors crammed her with studies virtually all day long.
There was no sign of remembrance at all, though.

Halfway through the day, she decided there was no sense in being impatient, so she took it easy.

Then one day, out of the blue, she was summoned to her father’s office and chastised, “Why are you performing at a snail’s pace?”


“Bianca, don’t be despondent.
You’re doing great.”

Later that afternoon, while sipping tea in the salon on her break, she was consoled by her second brother, Julian, who seemed a benevolent man.
Unlike her eldest brother, he was rather tender around her.
And he often smiled at her, which soothed her somewhat.

“I am at a loss.
Brother Julian, I don’t have the slightest recollection of what I have been learning.
Would you please teach me the lessons?”

Julian, who had been keeping a calm demeanor, unexpectedly stiffened his posture.

“Perhaps asking your tutor would be better.
Besides, I think your elder brother would be more qualified than I am.”

Even so, Satias, her eldest brother, never showed up for dinner and returned home much later than Julian.

Unconsciously, Bianca heaved a sigh.
She yearned for the tranquil life at the monastery, where no one would yell at her or reprimand her.

Is not being able to study that terrible?

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