Far away in the countryside manor, Vera had received new updates from the butler. Eager to share the good news with Grace, she exclaimed, "Elena—she actually turned into a human!"
The statement sounded odd, but Grace understood what she meant. Her eyes lit up. "Really? Oh my god! That's incredible! How did she do it? Just with those paper dolls?"
"Don't underestimate the paper dolls," Vera explained. "They're all the rage right now. But apparently, it wasn't 'just' the paper dolls."
"What else, then?" Grace asked eagerly, as if hope had appeared right before her eyes.
Vera hesitated for a moment, glanced around to ensure no one was nearby, then leaned in close and whispered, "They say the goddess Dædité prefers stories that are more passionate—more wild—than those plain old love stories. You know what I mean, right?"
It took a moment for Grace to catch on. But when she did, her eyes widened in disbelief, staring at Vera. As Vera nodded in confirmation, Grace could hardly keep her expression under control. Her idealized image of the goddess seemed to shatter in an instant. "The goddess… how could she…?"
She was in utter turmoil.
Although the daughter of a devout believer, Grace had encountered a few love stories during her time in the club—well, 'slightly' passionate love stories. And thanks to her mother's physiological lectures, she had a vague idea of what "more passionate, more wild love stories" really meant. But still… just imagining it made her blush. How could Vera say it out loud so boldly? And how on earth had Elena 'proven' it was true? Had she actually written something like that? Was it even popular?
She felt dizzy just thinking about it.
"I think Elena's work must be excellent," Vera said, unfazed. Her one desire was to regain the appearance of a normal person. Even if it required performing the transformation ritual all by herself, she was willing to try. To her, writing passionate stories was hardly anything frightening. After all, what Vera-the-monster did in the club had nothing to do with Vera Somerset, the noble lady. Right?
She was now convinced that Elena's work had caused such a stir that it pleased the goddess and allowed her to return to human form. However, a new problem arose. Vera had no access to such materials in the countryside, let alone the experience to write them herself. It was like trying to cook without ingredients—utterly frustrating.
"If only we could ask Elena for guidance," Vera sighed. "I know absolutely nothing about this kind of writing."
"Me neither," Grace whispered in agreement. Her cheeks were crimson, but her gaze grew more determined. If that was what it took to become human again—to stop hiding—then so be it. The only question now was, "How exactly does one 'write' that kind of thing?"
They stared at each other, both falling into silence.
Ask the gentlemen at the club for help? They'd rather die.
"Is there any way we could, like, 'read' some of those works?" Grace grew more proactive. "If it were Elena's work, even better. Hers clearly succeeded."
Vera thought for a moment, then said slowly, "I don't think Elena would tell us the title of her work. It's a bit… hard to talk about."
Still, Grace's idea was on the right track. If they could find reference materials, at least they could get a basic understanding of the genre.
If they were in the club, Elena might have told them that some "treasures" were buried in the garden below—perfect for study. Unfortunately, they were in the countryside.
"Oh, when can we go back to Luenton…" Vera sighed. The speed of correspondence between countryside and city was agonizingly slow, and considering that Elena had already reclaimed her identity, Vera didn't want to risk troubling her by writing to her directly.
Upon hearing her complaint, Grace's expression turned grim. She glanced toward the distant fields—green grass, lush woods, and a gently babbling brook painted a lovely spring scene. Then she reminded, "But summer is coming."
Vera's face instantly fell.
Yes, summer was approaching. That meant the Luenton River would begin to evaporate under the scorching sun, and all the waste dumped into it would turn into suffocating stench that blanketed the city.
Returning to Luenton now didn't sound so appealing.
Meanwhile, the Campbell household was also starting to fret about the oncoming summer.
Traditionally, they would spend the summer at the estate of Earl Campbell—Elena's grandfather. The countryside air and pleasant climate were perfect for a summer escape. Elena's father had always maintained a close relationship with his family, and the yearly trip had become a regular retreat.
But this year was different.
Mr. Campbell was still tied up with business in Francie, and Mrs. Campbell wasn't especially close with his relatives. Without her husband as the emotional link, she was hesitant about visiting the estate.
Of course, the estate was far superior to a medieval castle. Returning there meant walks, horseback riding, and picnics—far more appealing than stuffy city life.
But since summer hadn't quite arrived yet, Mrs. Campbell had plenty of time to decide.
One day, Elena finally finished the latest edition of her paper doll project. She sent it off to the printer, adding a note requesting three copies be set aside for her.
With the vampire monsters fading into myth, Mrs. Campbell felt more at ease and kindly allowed the girls to go for a walk in the park—under the supervision of Miss Susan, of course. The closest park to their residence was Leicester Square. It had a large green lawn, a solemn statue in the center, and crisscrossing paths dividing the grass into four quarters.
Other ladies were there too, dressed in walking gowns and carrying delicate parasols, strolling elegantly across the grass.
As Elena walked, her mind wandered to what the Duke of Berkeley had written in his letter: he had subtly passed on the secret to pleasing the goddess to other club members. But realistically, without experience, it would be hard for them to create anything truly good—especially for the shy ladies.
Of course, the duke had written a long paragraph—'not' implying that Elena wasn't shy, but rather that she was brave, clever, and determined. That's why she was the second member of the club to win the goddess's favor.
Elena could practically feel the duke's desperation to stay in her good graces oozing from his words.
That reminded her of the unfinished manuscript of 'Spring Dreams'. The printer, Mr. Herman, had once asked if he should send her a few sample copies once it was published.
Elena had declined in horror. What if the servants found them? Instant social death. But if she mailed them directly to her fellow club members in the countryside… that could also tarnish her reputation.
Although, if she was being honest, her reputation probably took a hit when she gave them the secret in the first place.
Still, for the sake of helping her fellow club members regain their human forms, she decided to write to Mr. Herman and request a few copies of 'Spring Dreams', along with some other popular 'ahem' genre books. She'd pay for them using her royalties. As for the servants—she would just buy a locked box and keep them hidden away.
Mr. Herman replied quickly. Three days after sending the letter, Elena received a reply and a tightly wrapped package. She carefully brought it to her room and locked the door before opening the letter.
In the letter, Mr. Herman said he had 'wanted' to write earlier but refrained, since she had asked during their contract signing to avoid any letters from "the most wicked" Holiwell Street. After all, no one wanted such a scandalous connection.
But now that 'she' had written to 'him', he seized the opportunity to beg her to write the sequel. He described his situation as pitiful—readers storming the bookstores for the next volume, booksellers pestering the printers daily. What could he do? He couldn't exactly loiter outside her home every day to beg her, now could he?
Now he finally had a chance to pester her. He lavished praise on her book, claiming it started a revolution on Holiwell Street. Though many copycats emerged, readers still longed for the original. If she didn't release the sequel soon, the excitement might die down.
The flattery was over the top, but Elena had to admire his cunning. When she opened the package, the fancy gift box stunned her. Even the collector's edition she had bought from the shop hadn't been wrapped this beautifully.
She unwrapped the package and found a thick book inside—so thick she began to doubt her memory. Had she really written 'that' much?
But when she flipped through it and saw blank pages interspersed throughout, she sighed.
'And they say I'm the capitalist here'.
Aside from her own work, she flipped through some of the newer, highly rated titles Mr. Herman had sent. While Elena—admittedly—felt her own work was still the gold standard, the new writers showed promise. Their stories had unique charms but still bore the restraint of the era, hesitant to go too far.
Interestingly, Elena noticed a trend: fewer euphemisms were being used. Perhaps authors were realizing those silly substitutions often felt unnatural.
After skimming through the books, Elena faced a dilemma. She didn't have the countryside manor's address, and to protect her identity, she couldn't send anything directly. Should she wait until Vera and the others returned, or should she ask the Duke of Berkeley to pass them along?
Should she delay to protect her already precarious image?
Just as she was agonizing over it, her sister, Janet, knocked on the door. "El, are you there?"
Elena hurriedly stashed the forbidden books in a locked chest, dusted herself off, and opened the door. "Janet, what is it?"
"Mother agreed!" Janet's eyes sparkled. "She's letting us go to the music hall!"