“Hah…”
A bitter laugh escaped my nose. Too many issues to count.
Avoidance is fine. Avoiding problems, conflicts, and unnecessary trouble is always the best course.
But even I was nearing my limit.
Since arriving in this world—what felt like between six months and a year—I had learned one thing with absolute certainty: this precarious semblance of peace, riddled with unease, wasn’t sustainable. If I stayed like this, I’d be exploited for the rest of my life.
“Excuse me, Oracle.”
“I’ve come to assist with your change of attire.”
Before I could say “Come in,” the door was already open.
Privacy? Of course not.
To the snake-like man, I wasn’t some sacred being—I was a precious golden goose.
The maids stripped me of the sheer ceremonial outfit I’d been made to wear, exposing my back and chest in a way that felt unnecessarily provocative.
They replaced it with slightly thicker white fabric draped like the attire of a goddess from Greek mythology, fastening it with a simple silver belt.
Throughout the process, the maids remained silent and expressionless. Despite all being tall and beautiful, their stern faces completely ruined the aesthetic.
“Thank you,” I said out of habit, my voice tinged with an exhale.
As always, there was no reply.
Not that I expected one; they were surely acting on the snake-like man’s orders.
The maids bowed and left. Their stoic expressions seemed faintly melancholic—though perhaps it was just my imagination.
Watching them go, I couldn’t help but think about why they had to remain silent.
It was just a theory, but I was almost certain.
They couldn’t let me know their names.
The legend the snake-like man recounted—“This being transforms the power of the gods into blessings by invoking their name and bestows them upon the deserving”—was probably true.
Apparently, everyone I’d blessed so far had achieved success. The snake-like man had told me this repeatedly, to the point where I wanted to scream at him to stop.
“Then why doesn’t the snake-man ask for a blessing himself?”
For all his flaws, the snake-man does at least provide for my daily needs. I’ve thought about offering him a blessing or two for the sake of peace, but he’s never brought it up—not even once.
That makes it obvious: receiving a blessing must carry some sort of risk. It’s only natural to assume so.
“I’m not that much of a fool, you know,” I murmured to myself.
The snake-man had always been insistent, whispering in my ear, “This person is praying for this, so bless them.” He repeated it over and over like a mantra.
A name and a wish.
It seems blessings require this combination.
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