Miss Elegy

Elliot forced himself to calm down and rapidly analyzed the situation before him.

He glanced at Conrad, who stood in attendance nearby-the old butler's loyalty was beyond question.

He might play a few harmless little jokes, but he would never deliberately embarrass his young master.

That meant that, in Conrad's eyes, neither withholding the visitor's identity beforehand nor dispensing with a formal introduction amounted to anything more than "harmless."

Yet a noble's dignity mattered more than anything! However far Flora's family had fallen, as an experienced butler, Conrad should at least have observed the formalities in public and formally introduced her surname or title.

But he had not.

He had merely introduced this "Miss Elegy" by her position in the society.

Then there was the fact that she had greeted him first-even when nobles differed in status, the gentleman should have taken the initiative to greet the lady.

So...

Elliot narrowed his eyes slightly. The conclusion was clear: she was not a noble, merely a commoner. She had come either to seek a connection with the Sterling Family or to ask something of them.

That was why the old butler had only needed to send someone with a message that afternoon, and she had immediately answered the summons.

Yes, Conrad had not even left the mansion that afternoon. Elliot had seen that himself.

Elliot pressed his lips together. He had known he was a noble, but he had not expected the name "Sterling" to carry such weight.

Even a troublemaking wastrel, even someone confined to his home, even an heir who had not inherited his title could summon the leader of a secret society at will. What, then, were the truly great nobles like?

Elliot drew a deep breath and relaxed his entire body slightly, adopting a casual air. Without deliberately worrying about noble etiquette, he began chatting with her, his face full of curiosity.

Unexpectedly, Miss Elegy was not as cold and distant as she appeared.

She maintained a reserved distance, but her words were gentle and warm, and she patiently answered every one of Elliot's questions. Surprisingly, the conversation never stalled.

"...So this poetry society isn't actually about writing poetry?"

"Poetry is the aria of words, and flesh and blood are the poetry of life," Flora said softly. "To consume flesh and blood is to listen to an elegy bidding life farewell."

That sounded pretty sinister.

Elliot hesitated, then decided to probe a little.

"Does this flesh and blood include humans?"

Flora's black-gloved fingers tightened slightly, and her clear gaze met Elliot's directly. "It does."

Elliot keenly caught what seemed to be a trace of barely perceptible nervousness in her.

Was she worried he would be disgusted?

"Really?" He showed just the right amount of surprise. "Doesn't that draw criticism?"

"At our Communion, we mix our own blood into raw meat and share it. This is part of the ritual, symbolizing unity. Blood is generally fine; people don't tend to object much. Poor people often come for a free Communion meal when they're cold and hungry, and most can accept that much."

A secret society that also did charity? Wasn't that a little absurd?

Flora made a show of lightly dabbing at the corner of her eye, folded her hands in front of her, and leaned forward slightly, looking at Elliot with an almost pleading gaze. "Mr. Elliot... your kindness is known throughout the Empire... might you be willing to offer those poor people some help...?"

So this was what she'd been waiting for? Elliot sneered inwardly.

"Help? Do I need to give blood too... oh, oh! Of course!"

He paused, then adopted a look of sudden understanding and immediately turned to Conrad.

"Young Master Elliot wishes to make an additional monetary donation to the Mourning Poetry Society's charitable work." Conrad took the hint and immediately bowed in response.

Only then did Elliot turn back to Flora, regarding her with interest.

No wonder she came as soon as she was called. She wanted funding.

But wasn't this a little too direct? Shouldn't it have been an unspoken understanding, with the money offered afterward? Why ask for it to his face?

Elliot took another look at Flora as she rose to bow. Could she be the particularly money-grubbing type?

Well... that wasn't bad either. It was the family's money, anyway. If he could trade it for information, wouldn't that be lovely?

At that thought, Elliot narrowed his eyes slightly.

Now that she'd taken the money, he was going to discuss some "paid content."

"Then... are there times when you eat human flesh too?"

Flora hesitated, but still nodded. "Only in very rare circumstances. For example, when one of our companions dies unjustly, we take some flesh and blood from their chest and share it to show our resolve to avenge them... but we really only take a tiny, symbolic amount."

"So... the Mourning Poetry Society doesn't actually advocate eating flesh and blood outright, but only partakes of it as a ritual?"

"Yes. We only share raw meat as a group during Communion. Our members' everyday diets are no different from anyone else's, though most of them do pursue fine food."

Elliot nodded. This was precisely the main thing he had wanted to confirm.

The Mourning Poetry Society's overall outlook still seemed normal. They ate raw meat, but they were not excessively obsessed with consuming flesh and blood.

As for mixing in their own blood, that seemed to be merely a symbolic ritual.

In that case, he could feel reasonably at ease about letting the girl come into contact with this organization.

But...

"Fine food? There's fine food here?" Elliot could not help chuckling, a hint of teasing in his voice.

He genuinely found it funny.

To be honest, the Sterling Family's meals were already exquisitely prepared, but how should he put it?

This world always reminded him of Victorian-era Britain, even its food.

Honestly, apart from the desserts, there was nothing he was used to eating, and even the desserts were a little too sweet.

If he had not wanted to avoid arousing suspicion, he would have cooked for himself.

Did they really think he gnawed on slices of bread every day because he liked them? Everything else was simply stranger than the last!

Flora's body went still for an almost imperceptible moment. She slowly raised her head, and for the first time, Elliot caught emotion in her tranquil eyes.

Why did she look a little like she was gritting her teeth?

But that emotion vanished in an instant. In the blink of an eye, she had regained her mysterious, elegant, composed demeanor.

Elliot raised his eyebrows. Flora had seemed completely at ease throughout, and with her being the Mourning Poetry Society's Elegy Funeral Rite, he had remained probing and guarded.

Only now did he truly realize that she was merely a girl, too.

Running the entire Mourning Poetry Society might have taught her maturity, but cracks would still show in the end.

And...

Did this poetry society take fine food very seriously? Elliot genuinely wanted better meals.

Seeing that it was getting late, the two politely said their goodbyes. Elliot escorted Flora to the mansion's entrance and watched her leave in a carriage, with some envy in his eyes.

If only he could go out too.

"Well, young master, were you satisfied with this 'information' on the Mourning Poetry Society?" Conrad's voice came from behind him.

"Extremely satisfied." Elliot turned around with a smile. "That was so interesting. Did you notice? She actually got angry when I mentioned fine food-I bet she's an excellent cook."

He blinked, looking a little expectant. "Next time... could we invite her here again? Let's see what her cooking is like!"

The old butler sighed silently. His young master was as willful as ever.