Children of the Rune – Winterer - Chapter 380

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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 150.
May Your Final Performance
Be Your Greatest (25)
“Hey, just now… that person… um….”
“Hmm?”
Ines suddenly shook her head.
“No, no. I have something to tell you. It’s important. Earlier, I accidentally wandered into the dressing room, and when people started coming in, I ended up hiding there. While I was stuck, I saw quite a few things. I heard your conversation too… of course, I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. I just had no chance to leave. You, that person, and your friend… even before you arrived….”
Riche didn’t immediately understand what Ines was trying to say. She was too preoccupied with what she’d said at the very beginning. But by the end, Riche also grasped the grave implication and cried out.
“My goodness! Then you also saw the person who brought that box with the clothes here?”
Ines’s expression grew unstable.
“So… look, about that… talk to me. And there’s something I need to tell you too.”
Riche felt a flicker of caution and questioned her.
“What is it?”
“About your true identities—you, that person, and your friend. Please tell me. I need to hear it before I can tell you my part. For me… this isn’t an easy matter. But I can’t pretend I don’t know. Ah, I can’t do this. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore.”
Riche realized the situation was becoming serious and glanced around. She decided she couldn’t call the two boys over right now. There was no guarantee Ines would speak in front of them.
She had no choice but to handle it herself. She had to tell her story and have this confrontation.
“Let’s go somewhere else. I’m afraid someone like you might show up here again.”
3. Pierce the Heart
Once you were an angel, with eyes closed
You do not gaze upon my face.
Once you were mine, with lips sealed
You do not answer my call.
Though you know I will cry out in haste
You do not rise to meet me.
Ungrateful woman
I shall not forgive you.
The blood I shed for you bears no fruit
Death has taken you, no longer mine
Until the day I follow in your wake
I shall send your brothers and friends
To rejoice eternally in tombs sealed with stone.
The scent of musk still lingered. The potent fragrance that had clouded the mind had faded, but the dressing room’s poor ventilation meant it never fully disappeared, instead drawing in anyone who carelessly opened the door into its dizzying embrace. A numbing scent that made one commit unintended acts without even realizing it.
But at this moment, no one came and went. It was noon, and everyone was at lunch. Sitting alone, gazing into the mirror, I reached out and opened a black, flat lid. Outside, the sun at twelve-ten would be blazing down, but here an orange lamp burned like midnight, casting unreal shadows, illuminating even the cheap brass trim around the mirror’s edge and the chipped, peeling wounds of the old dressing table.
With a tap, white powder flew up from the container and dissolved in the light. I dipped two fingers deep into the powder compact that sparkled like crushed pearls, then drew beneath my eyes. The fallen powder scattered across the dressing table.
With just my fingertips, I spread white across the area beneath my eyes and along my cheekbones. Then I brushed once with a brush. That was all for the base makeup. My skin was even and pale enough that I needed neither foundation nor emulsion. I only applied it beneath my eyes for the stage lighting. I’d done the same even during my Cardi days when I wore a mask, sometimes applying it over the mask itself.
Today there was no mask. Perhaps it was more a matter of feeling than necessity. With the dignified spirit of an actor who would not take the stage unprepared, I began this makeup that might seem like play.
In the mirror was a face like a white canvas, unafraid of any color. Anything would do. It was the play I had created, the role I understood best.
My hand reached out and grasped the ink brush. I studied the thin brushpoint for a moment. Like when painting, I envisioned what I meant to express in my mind. I drew exactly as I thought. I boldly pressed the brush tip against my eyelid, then swiftly drew a line. The line following my double eyelid rose finely at the corner of my eye. The same on the left—the black ink line made my already intense gaze even sharper.
I set down the ink brush and picked up shadow. I applied the bluish-dark shadow used for depicting the dead or the sick along my eye line, darker at the corners. Without hesitation, as I pleased, an eye makeup emerged in blue and violet tones that no one else would attempt. I threw down the brush and looked in the mirror.
With just a few colors, I saw myself transformed from my usual appearance. Still beautiful, but now cold and angry even without expression. It was a face that needed no paint to begin with. Yet today I would take the stage. There exists a beauty suited to that place, and by my understanding, even with the pallor of a corpse, it is an enchanting beauty.
Rising from the dressing table, I walked to the wardrobe and retrieved the costume for the first scene of Act One. I cast the long jacket of deep black velvet with a blue sheen onto the table along with a high-collared shirt, then shed what I was wearing. First the trousers, then I donned the shirt and fastened the buttons. I raised the collar and left the neckline loosely undone before slipping on the velvet jacket. It was adorned with golden buttons, and the sleeves and hem were trimmed with elaborate twisted gold piping—a flamboyant costume that ordinary people would struggle to carry off, yet it suited me without a flaw.
Finally, I wound a muffler around my neck and slipped on my shoes. As I turned sharply, I caught sight of the mirror reflecting the entire dressing room and my own image. I ran my fingertips through my hair, which I had groomed that morning. I approached the dressing table, retrieved a false gold ring from the drawer and slipped it on, then adjusted the corners of my mouth. Everything was complete. I was satisfied. I would now take the stage and begin rehearsal, and in an hour and a half, everything would commence—applause, perhaps death, awaiting me in that place. As I turned my body and took a step toward the stage, the door opened.
The visitor was announced by an intoxicating musky fragrance. It wafted through the room so thickly that my head spun for a moment. Ines froze in place, startled. Then, realizing who was looking at her, her expression shifted to one of shock—or more precisely, bewilderment.
“Ah, Ines. You need to prepare, don’t you?”
He was entirely different from yesterday. Despite practicing daily and having already performed together once, it felt like meeting him for the first time. A strange hand seemed to clench her heart, stealing her breath. She had never seen him with eye makeup like that. The starkly vivid teal shadow and purple were so alien, yet not the slightest bit jarring. She could not tear her gaze away. She even forgot why she had entered the room. All she knew was that her heart was racing wildly. Only that.
“Come here.”
As Joshua called, she moved toward the dressing table, though her body felt sluggish, as if wading through water. Barely managing to sit in the chair, Joshua washed his hands and returned, pulling the opposite chair close and gesturing for her to turn toward him. Then he reached out, dispensing toner onto his fingertips, and spoke.
“Close your eyes.”
The moment Joshua’s hand touched her face, her head grew dizzy. She felt nothing of the cool toner. Only the sensation of his fingers, tickling as they brushed across her face. Then something was spread over her skin, yet she could feel only that. When his fingertips reached her neck, her body shivered. Soon after, he switched to a brush, and the afterimage lingered for some time.
Joshua did not apply makeup often, but he knew cosmetics well. Having stood on stage for years, he had spent countless hours in dressing rooms. He knew precisely how to brighten Ines’s pale, uneven complexion, how to refine her delicate eyes, what color her cheeks needed, and how to address the blue veins visible in her neck.
“Just a moment…”
In Ines’s narrowly opened eyes, she could see Joshua’s downcast gaze as he carefully refined the brush tip. Soon the brush approached her eyelid, drawing a line. The cool brush swept to the corner of her eye and continued beneath it. Throughout, his left hand lightly gripped her shoulder. Ines struggled to breathe evenly, biting her lip for fear he would notice her trembling.
“You can open your eyes now.”
I applied only a modest amount of shadow to Ines. Instead, I needed to use generous peach-toned blush to bring out her pallid cheeks, dabbing it lightly and blending it with my fingertips. Her lips trembled slightly, but I, focused on my work, paid no mind to her reactions. This was for my creation. Ines was the protagonist who would share the stage with me; her appearance was a crucial element. I was refining her face with the singular resolve to make today’s performance flawless.
Finally, I dipped the brush in lip tint and showed her the shape to mimic, moving the brush as if painting a picture. Though one might wonder how she had transformed, Ines did not glance at the mirror. She had been looking at only one thing the entire time—my own unpainted lips, slightly parted without my realizing it as I applied color to hers.
“Done.”
When Joshua pointed to the mirror, Ines finally turned her gaze. And she started in surprise. Was that really my face?
There she was—radiant cheeks, sharp eyes, a white and flawless forehead, and full, alluring lips. She had never seen her own face like this before. She had always thought compliments about beauty belonged to others, yet for the first time, it seemed such words might suit her too, and without realizing it, her cheeks flushed.
“It doesn’t… look like my face.”
“Do you dislike it?”
“Oh, no. Not at all. It’s so beautiful that… it doesn’t look like me.”
Joshua smiled.
“I noticed yesterday that the makeup artist wasn’t very skilled. With a more competent artist, anyone can become beautiful.”
Ines hesitated before speaking.
“That may be true, but it’s only makeup after all. Your original face doesn’t change, does it?”
Joshua chuckled softly.
“Very few people are born with beautiful faces. Everyone becomes beautiful through effort. You needn’t think of a made-up face as someone else’s. If you believe you must appear only as you were born, then don’t wear clothes either. Well, I’ll be going now—change into your costume and come out.” “But…”
As Joshua stood, Ines rose as well, her words tumbling silently in her mouth. Joshua turned back.
“Hmm?”
“You don’t need makeup to… be beautiful.”
Joshua, already at the doorway, turned back and smiled weakly.
“But everything we’re born with comes at a price.”
Children of Rune – Winterer
Author: Jeon Min-hee
Publisher: 14 Months Publishing
The rights to this book belong to the author and 14 Months Publishing.
To reuse all or part of this book’s content, written consent from both parties is required.

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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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