A Monodrama for Carolyn August - Chapter 55

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 55.
Michelle’s acting lessons continued in this manner.
To help her son master his roles, she chose to erase the existence called Aiden.
Now, within Michelle’s Mansion, there was only an actor ready for the stage.
Whenever she presented a role, Aiden had to become that character and act accordingly.
Michelle furnished the rooms throughout the Mansion as if they were sets for the plays Aiden performed in, and she tore out the doors.
So there would be no corner where he could hide from her.
Every space he occupied became a stage for performance.
If Aiden deviated from his character even by accident—or deliberately—he was punished in some form.
Struck with a large whip.
Bathing in only cold water.
Being trapped in a maze from which he could not escape without Michelle’s help—these were the examples.
The results, according to Michelle, were “not bad.”
Aiden himself began to realize that his acting was gradually transcending the realm of conscious effort.
He no longer needed to struggle to shed the shell of himself attempting to act.
It was easier to think that the role was spilling over into his daily life rather than Aiden attempting to act.
This method of acting continued even after he became an adult.
Now that there was no immaturity or mistake in him, the “punishments” Michelle inflicted no longer existed.
Yet Aiden continued to live within the Mansion in the same roles.
Some days as Daemon, some days as Stefan, some days as Willow.
Aiden Darvel loved tomato dishes very much.
However, Friedman—who had suffered showers of rotten tomatoes at every opportunity in childhood—never so much as glanced at them during his time in the Mansion.
After clearing out a wardrobe full of light-colored clothing, he adhered only to black vests and trousers, and white shirts.
His stride grew wider than usual, and his footsteps deliberately grew heavier.
A habit of lifting his gaze from below upward had emerged unknowingly, and his hair, which had been covered calmly, was now styled quite aggressively with wax.
Then came a certain day.
After washing his face in cold water, Aiden glanced at the mirror and felt a moment of confusion.
‘Who am I?’
He gripped the edge of the sink with widened eyes and rubbed near his eyes.
Sense returned.
He was Aiden Darvel—who else could he be.
‘But what was I doing just now?’
It felt as though a distant call echoed from far away.
The question was simple. What had he been doing just before washing his face?
He had no memory of it.
‘Why?’
Aiden hurried to the window and pulled back the blackout curtains.
His last memory was the night before midnight.
But now…
Click!
Sunlight poured in through the triangular gap.
Cold air, the sound of birds in the distance. It was unmistakably morning.
Where had he been all this time, and what had he been doing?
And who had he been?
He could not remember.
As the gap between Aiden and his roles grew clumsy and ultimately vanished, the characters he had played began to lodge in one corner of Aiden’s mind like fragmented selves.
Just as anyone might harbor a conservative version of themselves, a somewhat childlike version, and a sentimental version all at once.
The characters Aiden had acted out all this time were now settling into his mind without his knowledge.
When he finished performing during the day, the him of night awakened as the role he had recently been acting.
It was not merely an internal phenomenon.
Aiden believed himself to be Friedman, Daemon, or Stefan, while simultaneously maintaining an unconscious sense that he was still performing.
So when he awoke in Aiden’s body but with a role’s consciousness, he would enter the Dressing Room and adorn himself.
Fixing his hair to match the character, changing his clothes, and applying makeup if necessary.
Perhaps it was not because of the role at all.
To the awakened Friedman, the ‘Aiden’ reflected in the mirror was not his true self.
An unfamiliar man.
A man who looked boring—nothing more, nothing less.
If Aiden firmly believed himself to be Friedman, then he was merely undergoing the process of returning to his own appearance.
The daytime Aiden subtly sensed what situation he was experiencing.
Because he lived as someone other than himself at night, he had never once witnessed his own state with his own eyes, yet he knew he was not in a normal condition.
Should he give up acting?
Would that free him from this madness?
But what if nothing changed even after he quit?
How was he supposed to live then?
The offers kept pouring in for Aiden Darvel.
He lacked the courage to abandon it all and apply the brakes.
As his mind grew more tangled, his work continued unabated.
Like a wheel rolling downhill with no brake, those days were nothing but anxiety.
Then one day, shocking news arrived.
“That’s impossible!”
“Madam!”
“Help her up at once!”
“Aaaahhh!”
Crash!
Mealtimes between Aiden and Michelle Belota Darvel were always quiet.
Michelle read newspapers about aristocratic jewels, culture, and gossip, while Aiden remained absorbed in the character he was playing, so there was no need for conversation.
The servants, too, stood lined along both sides of the table in silence.
Only the sound of silverware and the pouring of tea filled the air.
But that day was different.
Michelle unfolded the newspaper as she always did.
She always looked first at the jewelry news on the third page, then read through in order.
As she whispered to a servant about a peridot order and turned to the front page while spooning her sherbet, Michelle saw it.
The obituary that dominated the first page in large letters.
<Count Malentaine Idius Roman, deceased from chronic illness……>
And that was enough to drive her mad.
In an instant, the dining table became chaos.
Dishes and food scattered across the floor, colorful stains sprayed onto the walls and servants’ clothing.
A woman shrieking and hurling objects in convulsive outbursts.
And servants rushing about frantically to clean up what she had done.
Crashes and clatters, with droplets of liquid flying everywhere.
And Aiden laughed.
Such a contrast to his mother, screaming as if struck by lightning.
He thought the scene was like a play.
Whether it was a comedy meant to entertain the audience or a grotesque theatrical spectacle meant to inspire dread, he didn’t know.
And Aiden was certain of one thing:
‘I’m not sane.’
Perhaps it ran in the family, he thought.
Could it be genetic?
His mother, still pining for the man who had left her pregnant and abandoned, weeping at news of his death.
And his son, laughing as he watched.
Clearly, something was wrong with both of them.
‘I’m fundamentally broken.’
And perhaps his mother was the same.
After learning of Count Roman’s death, Michelle deteriorated rapidly.
Her already thin frame grew gaunt, and without the servants’ help, she could hardly climb the stairs or walk through the garden.
Most troubling of all was that Michelle’s mind began to waver.
Not yet fifty, Michelle saw Count Roman in Aiden.
“My love, you’ve come?”
Aiden too had known about his biological father since childhood.
That he had married another noblewoman and left Aiden and his mother behind.
That after giving them the mansion as if to say “here, eat this and forget me,” there had been no contact.
That somewhere unknown to Aiden, he had lived well.
And that Aiden Darvel and Count Malentaine Roman were terribly alike.
His green eyes, his caramel-colored hair, his lanky yet masculine frame, and his subtly elegant bearing—all came from him.
Michelle adored this resemblance even as she despised it.
And now she was completely confusing Aiden with his biological father.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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