“A letter?”
The maid handed it over like a covert agent. There were no stamps, seals, or even a sender’s na on the envelope.
“A masked ssenger handed it to the kitchen maid and ran off.”
“…I see. Thank you.”
“Oh, there’s nothing to thank for! I didn’t see anything, I swear! Call if you need anything!”
The maid left the room with a grin, likely lost in so sweet and dramatic daydream.
Daydream all you want, but knowing Doris’s personality, it’s unlikely she’d have a secret lover or suitor.
No point dwelling on it. I tore open the envelope imdiately.
Inside was a card made of smooth, high-quality paper.
To the esteed Doris Redfield,
I imagine this unexpected letter must co as a surprise. However, I, Mada Abigail, am confident that it will be a delightful one.
I heard about the remarkable insight you demonstrated at Baron Breeze’s botanical garden opening last April. From what I understand, your deanor there proved that your judgnts are neither accidental nor pretentious.
Let get to the point.
Have you ever heard of the Sacred Salon?
So, that’s what the strange stares at the garden were about.
I know about the Sacred Salon.
It’s a gathering held every Saturday at a closed-down temple. Nobles of high society, masked and anonymous, indulge in scandalous gossip, discussions of human relationships, and high-stakes gambling.
The Sacred Salon is a space for open and honest conversations about society. There, you don’t have to suppress your opinions to accommodate the status of others. Even discussions about the royal family’s future are fair ga. And the thrill of wagers adds a delightful spice to it all.
Your secrets will remain safe. Only the salon’s host, Mada Abigail, knows the true identities of the guests.
If you wish to join us, co to the address below in disguise this Saturday.
If not, simply burn this letter.
What a polished way to put it.
In the original story, the Sacred Salon is portrayed negatively—a den for foolish nobles squandering their money while debating things like, “Who will land Arthur, the biggest catch in society? Of course, it’ll be the beautiful Natalie!”
In short, it’s a gathering of side characters whose purpose is to highlight the protagonist.
…Still, I didn’t burn the letter.
Mada Abigail.
The salon’s enigmatic hostess, known for knowing all the scandals and keeping track of every guest’s identity. And—
“She grants a wish to the guest with the highest winnings each year.”
The wishes are limited to introductions, networking, or other social favors, but supposedly, she can even arrange etings with mbers of the royal family. Rumors even suggest she might secretly be the queen.
In the original novel, the salon existed mainly to showcase the greed and folly of the side characters. Mada Abigail’s true identity remained a mystery until the end.
It’s rare for long novels to leave such a versatile side character as a re MacGuffin.
But now, this world isn’t a novel; it’s my reality.
“Doris Redfield, who had no physical description in the original story, now has a face thanks to .”
Perhaps Mada Abigail and her wish-granting powers are no longer fictional MacGuffins but tangible forces in this world.
…And with my knowledge of the original plot, I’d likely be the most successful gambler at the salon.
A wish-granting opportunity could be a powerful tool.
I should seize any chance I get.
Sneaking out on Saturday night without my family noticing won’t be hard. They’ll assu I’m in my room reading.
The real issue is the disguise…
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of the dresses and accessories Natalie had given , including the glittering party mask nestled in the box.
***
Saturday evening.
I rubbed my shoulders, already regretting wearing the dress Natalie had given . Even with a shawl, the spring night air was still chilly.
Where exactly am I supposed to go? Did I co to the wrong place?
The front of the abandoned temple was eerily quiet, enough to make question if I was in the right spot.
A cold, desolate atmosphere hung around the old, closed-down building. The large wooden doors were sealed shut with planks nailed in an X-shape, making it impossible to open them.
This feels like the start of a horror movie.
Just as I turned to search elsewhere, a woman wearing a bird-shaped mask stepped in front of .
I nearly scread, but she lightly covered my mouth.
“Shh, it’s alright.”
Her shoes, lined with fur on the soles, seed designed to muffle her footsteps.
“You must be the new guest for the Sacred Salon. Follow .”
“Uh… alright.”
I followed her through a narrow path behind a fence, stepping over bushes and weaving around the building. Finally, we reached a small wooden door. When she opened it, an entirely different world unfolded before .
The scents of food and alcohol mixed with the warmth of the air. Lively, upbeat music and excited voices flooded my ears.
“Co, co! Let’s discuss whether the second prince’s marriage is progressing well!”
“Who will win the Southern rchant Guild’s election? Anyone have so juicy insights?”
Groups of people clustered around tables, passionately arguing. Everyone wore masks, making it feel like I’d fallen into a surreal fantasy world, reminiscent of Alice in Wonderland.
A staff mber approached and said, “Mada Abigail will be here shortly. In the anti, feel free to mingle with the other guests. Don’t worry about being recognized—our music is designed to alter your voice enough to conceal your identity.”
Interesting. So that oddly dissonant string music is for disguising voices?
Feeling a little more at ease, I leaned against the wall and took in my surroundings.
For a supposedly abandoned temple, the interior was surprisingly cozy. Marble, polished wood, and massive tree stumps used as tables blended together harmoniously, showcasing the salon host’s impeccable taste.
One area had no tables, leaving space for people to dance. While their enthusiastic movents were admirable, as an introvert, I wanted to leave just from watching them.
When is Mada Abigail going to show up?
“Hello, milady.”
Huh?
Instead of the awaited Mada Abigail, a group of n had gathered in front of . Beneath their eye-covering masks, their grinning mouths were visible and unsettling.
“First ti here, huh? You’ve been looking around like you’re new.”
“Co to our table. We’ll explain the basics.”
The table they pointed to was littered with empty bottles. Nothing constructive was likely to co from sitting there. Worse, their gaze lingered on my exposed shoulders, making feel incredibly uncomfortable.
Fortunately, I noticed a staff mber approaching, seemingly aware of the situation.
Unfortunately, before they arrived, one of the n grabbed my wrist.
“Let’s go—”
“Argh!”
That scream didn’t co from .
Soone had stepped in between us and twisted the man’s arm with a grip so strong it made him howl.
“W-who are you?!” the man shrieked, his voice cracking in pain.
The figure before was clearly a man, his broad back shielding from the group. He spoke in a low, dangerous tone.
“Before inviting a lady to your table, perhaps you should check the stench of your own rotten intentions.”
“Agh! Let go of my hand!”
“And grabbing a lady without permission—what a poor excuse for a gentleman.”
The man struggled in vain until the staff arrived and quickly surrounded the group.
The bird-masked woman bowed slightly.
“Thank you for your cooperation, sir. We’ll take it from here.”
“Why are you taking us?! He’s the one who used force—”
“Co along. We’d like to have a little ‘conversation’ with you.”
The staff encircled the n like a flock of pigeons descending on discarded bread, dragging them away before they could resist further.
As I stared, dumbfounded by how swiftly they had handled the situation, the man who had intervened turned to .
“Are you alright?”
His voice, now gentle, was a stark contrast to the earlier nace.
Through the full-face skull mask he wore, unfamiliar green eyes t mine as he bent slightly to look at .
“I-I’m fine! Thank you!”
“Fine? You sound shaken. Could we get a warm apple tea for the lady, please?”
The skull-masked man effortlessly ordered from a staff mber, who nodded and left.
How… how can soone be this kind?
He rescued soone in trouble? Asked if I was okay? And even ordered tea for ? All without knowing ? He even treated the staff politely?
Is this a scam? Is he trying to lull into a false sense of security?!
…No, calm down.
Months of dealing with my dysfunctional family, my 200%-toxic fiancé, and the gossip-mongering nobles had drained my faith in humanity. I shouldn’t let that cloud my judgnt.
There must be good people out there.
While I was having this internal debate, the skull-masked man glanced around and gestured toward an empty table.
“Please, take a seat over there. Your apple tea will be here shortly.”
He didn’t just point—he gently took hold of the edge of my fan and guided to the table.
Once I realized what had happened, I quickly bowed my head.
“Thank you so much! I don’t even know how to repay you…”
“No need. As long as you can end your evening on a pleasant note, that’s enough for .”
Without waiting for further gratitude, the skull-masked man walked away.
I watched him go, utterly dazed.
Who is he? Could he be a character I know?
I should’ve looked at his hair color. That’s always the first clue in these situations.
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