The envelope caused a prickly feeling to titter tatter through Isabelle’s fingers and up her arms.

There was an estrangement between Rayne’s Countess and her husband, who celebrates the arrival of the invitation with Cara and Hanson.

It was like she wasn’t even in the room. They’re actors in a play, and she’s shadowed within the audience.

All of a sudden, Isabelle is sucked into the act when Howard wraps his arms around her and spins.

Forced to act without knowing her lines, all Isabelle can manage is a stiff smile.

Her feet touch the floor and Isabelle almost cries when Cara says, “Is this not wonderful news, my Lady?”

Maybe I’m being paranoid. Isabelle tells herself. This is what Flora has wanted for years, and the only way her reputation will see the slightest recovery!

Flora Rayne, that uniquely kind and loving child should only lay her feet on a path of flowers. For all Flora’s done for her and others, Isabelle never doubted this is the least Flora deserves!

With Darlin’s help, the indomitable fist of Felicity Fritz yielded into a handshake— something that should have been impossible.

Knowing all this, Isabelle still could not free herself of dread’s claws.

She was compelled to fling the envelope out the window when Flora came through the parlor’s doors.

Pink eyes take in the celebratory scene with a questioning furrow. “What’s going on here?”

Howard snatches the envelope from Isabelle and strides towards Flora. “The invite…!” His breaths are ragged with excitement. “This, my dear, is the invitation to your wedding!”

“It just arrived!” Marin said.

“By now,” Howard put a hand on Flora’s shoulder, the excitement in his eyes blinding the reluctance on her face. “the whole capital must be aware my daughter will be Fritz’s Duchess Apparent!”

“Oh, you must be positively thrilled, Lady Flora!” The butler beams over Howard’s shoulder.

Before Flora can think, Cara is chiming, “You’ll be the most gorgeous bride Taivaria has ever seen!”

Flora’s mouth opens and closes without any words being said. Her eyes bounce so fast between three elated faces her stomach begins to turn. 

Between their joy, her worries, and everything that’s happened since the graduation, her thoughts are caught in a tornado. Soon it’s not just Howard, Cara, Isabelle, and Marin she sees, but Heinrich, Felicity, Gretchen, and Vincent as well!

Not a single face gives her what she wants— Actually, Flora finds she wants to run away, curl up in a place they won’t find her. 

In terrible timing, the parlor’s doors open once more to reveal the one person Flora least wants so see.

“Ah,” It doesn’t take Darlin long to comprehend the situation. “So we are finally here.” 

Flora could hear the smile in Darlin’s voice and knew it looked much prettier than it sounded. 

Darlin’s cryptic words from that day have persistently lingered like a ghost. “Your love, your hope— my effort, my sacrifice. Let us talk about these things at a later time...” 

Understanding was close, but staying out of her reach. Flora initiated the situation with the hope of growing closer to Darlin, helping her change, but Darlin seized the reins and drove them off a cliff.

Flora didn’t like the fall, but is more afraid of what awaits her when they finally hit the floor.

Howard ordered the exit of the Head Maid and Butler before handing the invite to Darlin for scrutiny. 

It’s not the same. Is the first thing those bright red eyes observe. 

Darlin’s wedding invites were an arrogant royal red accompanied by gladioluses bound up in a gold ribbon. Every invitee received the flowers which were a physical show of Fritz’s wealth, strength, and confidence. 

It was that ostentatious for a reason; Darlin and Heinrich’s wedding represented the aristocratic faction officially throwing down the gauntlet.

This time the invite is an unassertive, powder white envelope with sparkly gold patterns. Lovely as it is quaint. The words as well are short and just polite enough.

“So?” Howard is almost shaking his clothes off with his jittering. “Do you notice anything?

“Nothing of concern, father.” Except that the Fritz couple are not pleased. A lack of glamor and finery implies either an inability to afford it, or an unwillingness to place it. Enough subtle jabs like this and it will be over for Flora before long. 

Howard claps his hands. “That settles it! My daughter’s getting married! HAHA!” 

Vincent had very rudely disallowed Howard entry to “Silken”— Vincent’s Parlour. At the end, it was just a mindless tantrum because he didn’t want to acknowledge his son’s shortcomings!

Her husband’s mood is finally lifted, and Isabelle regrets her misgivings with no way to put them down permanently. The conversation she had with Gretchen is to blame. 

Isabelle’s social circle has fallen apart, and though Howard didn’t admit it, she knows the same was the cause for his sour mood these past days.

Now, he can’t stop smiling in joy of the future to come.

Will… Will everything really be alright? Just like that? Isabelle would give an arm and a leg to make things blow over that easily, but when she regards Flora— shoulders hunched, hands clamped over her chest, bottom lip between her teeth— “Go ahead and smother little Flora all you want. The love you’ve showered her with might just be her only comfort when she’s left all alone~!” She couldn’t stop herself. “Is… Is it alright to proceed like this?”

The look Howard gives Isabelle is as if she just said a spun cow will produce butter from its otter. 

“I- I mean… this is all short notice for us. We haven’t heard anything about the preparations, and as the bride’s family we should—!”

“The Fritz’s wedding traditions are for them to handle, mother.” Darlin wished she hadn’t spoken so hurriedly, but it’s already taking a heavy patience to keep the edge out of her voice. “As the bride’s family, we only need to make sure Flora learns her role well.” Why Isabelle is suddenly airing of qualms, Darlin didn’t know. Be as it may, she will ensure Flora and Heinrich are bound to one another even if she has to suture their genitals together.

“What… What about my dress? Shouldn’t there at least be a fitting?” Flora mumbles.

Darlin rubs her forehead to hide her eyes rolling. “Flora, I told you already; it will all be taken care of by the Fritzs. And mother,” Isabelle jolts. Darlin’s call is like a cane cracking over her knuckles. “please do not feed Flora’s anxiety.”

“I’m not anxious!” The flush of defensiveness took Flora off guard.

It also served to convince Howard otherwise, and he shot Isabelle a warning glare before beaming a smile Flora’s way. “Don’t worry, my dear. You, and no one else, are Heinrich’s heart. Just focus on walking down the aisle, on your future with him.”

Flora’s lips finally pull into a smile, shaky and heavy. She could see light. Heinrich… It burns.

Bowing her head, Flora excuses herself, “I should get back to my lessons now.”

Darlin woke up with a fever the day she fell asleep with Ludovik’s letter in hand and still isn’t at full health yet. That won’t do if she is going to enjoy her only sister’s wedding.

To keep Howard out of her hair, “Father, mother, do not forget to prepare your clothes for the wedding. You are the parents of the bride, after all~!”

Her words have the Earl flaunting metaphorical feathers, and the Countess shrinking.

…Hmm… Darlin deliberately crossed the hall in slow steps, and soon enough she hears someone leave the parlor in a hurry.

“Darlin!”

“Yes, mother?”

For all Isabelle bears in her heart, she is speechless before Darlin. She squirms and stammers in place until Darlin takes the lead, “How about some tea?”

Darlin shoos the maid before her cup can be filled after Isabelle’s. It is Isabelle that needs to become a melted puddle of confessions, not her.

A sip has Isabelle’s tense posture relaxing, and when her lashes flutter, Darlin pounces. “It was not easy convincing the Duke and Duchess. One might say it is a miracle we ever reached this point.” 

Isabelle’s breathing sharpens, dark brown pupils refusing to leave the curtains. 

Guilt? Good. “You know it as well, mother— this is not the time to drag your feet!”

Isabelle’s eyes shoot back to Darlin, wide as saucers, yet Darlin’s smile reveals none of the scorn Isabelle heard. Maybe I imagined it…? “I… But… Will Flora be alright… after the wedding?”

Darlin cocks her head. “Do you have reason to think she will not?”

“You saw how opposed the Duke and Duchess were that day!”

“You knew they would oppose from the very start. Why is it a problem now?”

“Because—!” “You doted a bastard into a person with no merit…” Isabelle caught herself, appalled she would even think Flora incapable in any way. “They might treat her badly once she’s in a place we can’t reach?”

“But Sir Heinrich loves her.” Darlin’s retort is guileless. “That is why you jumped at the idea of being able to help her marry him, no?”

“A-At the time, I…”

Darlin supplies, “You wanted Flora to get what she wanted. Why has that changed?”

“…Darlin, are you… are you upset about something?”

It’s eery how the light casts on only half of Darlin’s face. “Whatever do I have to be upset about, mother?”

Leaving Isabelle no room to answer, Darlin warns, “You understand there will be no shortage of consequences to call off the wedding at this point, do you not?” She let the words sink in, then continued, “And what becomes of Flora, hm? The Duke and Duchess already set their pride aside by accepting this marriage. Do you think Flora will even have the option to be Sir Heinrich’s mistress if we call off the wedding without probable cause? We can send her to the countryside to live quietly for however long it takes society to pardon her. Or, we keep Flora here and give her to whomever will have a salacious woman for a wife— or mistress. We will probably settle for whichever we can get at that point.”

“Flora is still—“

“Society does not know that, and short of watching her bleed the proof, they will not believe otherwise.”

“…You are upset.” 

Darlin almost scoffed. Leave it to you to become insightful at this most crucial time. “I suppose my mood is a little off because my fever has not gone down.”

“Fever?” Now that it’s been mentioned, Isabelle noticed Darlin still wears her nightgown with a shawl wrapped around her. “Fever… Since when?”

Playing her memories back, Isabelle finds she has not seen her daughter lately— not in the halls, at the dining table, or… or… Are these the only times we see each other? 

“Days.” Was Darlin’s tepid response as she stood. 

As she watched her leave, Isabelle suddenly noticed how small Darlin’s back is. “…while the one raised outside of your care turned into the only good thing in your miserable life!”

“Darlin… what’s your favorite flower?”

Darlin ought to have said whatever comes to mind, but hearing the same question Ludovik asked made her freeze with one foot out the door.

Honestly, she’s been wondering that as well. Why does it matter? Why does he care? To flatter me? If that’s his reason, She looked at Isabelle over her shoulder, why is she curious?

Against her better judgment, despite telling herself the time to gloat will come, she said, “I think… I think I used to like camellias… the pink ones.” then she was gone before Isabelle could see the rue take over her daughter’s face.

*****

Dutifully awaiting Darlin outside the bedroom door, Collette exclaims, “Milady!” as soon as Darlin rounds the corner.

She welcomes Darlin by throwing an even thicker shawl over her shoulders. “Are you alright? You said you wouldn’t be long!”

Darlin knew Ludovik’s spy was over exaggerating. Collette’s pouting face reminded her of the airhead maid she takes on her escapades, except when Collette complains, Darlin doesn’t find it quite as insipid. 

“My personal matters are not for you to worry so much about.” That does not mean it didn’t make her uncomfortable.

She sidesteps Collette and heads into her room. “I invited a designer, Sir Raymond. Please bring him to me when he arrives. Until then, I would like to be alone.”

Darlin shut the door and let out a low, frustrated groan. Really? A tantrum?

It’s not Collette’s fault Darlin let herself get rattled up by Flora— nor does she get to be upset with Collette for catching her in such a lowly state.

Darlin did not even want to entertain the thought of Collette reporting to Ludovik, but wanting to reject the possibility won’t make it impossible. Should I ask? She faces the door, then decides otherwise. 

How would she even phrase it? What if Collette asks for an in depth explanation? There’s no way to phrase it that won’t make her look bad, so why bother opening that door?

She enters her closet and gets to work taking a painting off her wall, nearly falling on her butt more than a few times in the process.

As she sets it down, Darlin awards herself some praise for not slapping herself in the face with the painting like she did when she was fourteen.

A white hand glides over the wall, fingers tapping until her index finds a hollow spot no bigger than an eye, and presses till it starts to click.

Mechanisms within the wall are set in motion to trigger a narrow section to part down the middle and reveal a hidden room containing a bottle of perfume on an otherwise empty shelf, and the rest of the space occupied by a gorgeous wedding dress arranged over a headless mannequin. 

Darlin’s red pupils are rubies bathed in shadow, the edges aglow with hellish intent. 

The ballgown has a drop waist and is sleeveless. Delicate tulle is arranged around the bust in a way that makes it seem like the wearer were emerging from a flower bud, whilst the skirt of the dress is covered in fine glitter that will shimmer like starlight with every step the bride takes. 

When Darlin first saw this dress in her first life, she wanted to crumple to the floor and cry like a child.

That day, Darlin’s wedding day, Flora attended in such a dress, pink eyes misty with tears she was barely holding back. 

Darlin remembered how Heinrich could barely take his eyes off Flora, the whispers that filled the hall as the priest droned on about love and commitment.

Narcisse did not neglect to praise Flora’s beauty all through the ceremony, and Darlin had no rebuttal. 

When Flora caught the bouquet, she looked so beautiful fairytale princesses would bite their thumbs in jealousy. Narcisse mocked to Darlin’s hearing alone, “You can barely tell who’s the bride here.”

The complaints she aired to her parents were met with rebuke— Flora only wanted a single chance to wear her dream wedding dress, could Darlin not afford some compassion? 

All these memories had Darlin wishing she could wear the dress to Flora’s wedding as it is— like Flora did to her wedding— but the thought of people thinking her a jilted bride spiting Flora over Heinrich beckons bile up her throat. 

Darlin rolls the mannequin out of the secret room and into her bedroom. 

She eyes the chest full of riches with a frown. The magic on the lock has faded since some days ago, and to that end Darlin has only permitted Collette to clean her room— with her present, of course.

Darlin often thought of asking the maid’s help to move the chest into the secret room, but distrust kept her from doing so. Now, shame over her mania reinforces the invisible clamps on her mouth.

Arms crossed, Darlin decides to try moving the chest herself. By the time Collette knocks to inform her of Raymond’s arrival, Darlin is sweaty and has pushed the chest half a foot closer to the closet. 

She quickly arranges herself and calls through heavy lungs, “Come in!”

Raymond’s humming morphs into a screech. “Gods above!” He was skittering around Darlin at a speed that leaves her dizzy. “What’s happened to my Darlin?!” He cups her cheeks and gasps at how cold her skin is. “You’re sick!” He turns to Collette, “Why is she sick?” then back to Darlin. “Have you seen the doctor yet? Have you taken your medicine? What’s with all those books? Goodness, you are my muse, but also the worst patient!”

Darlin can’t stop from smiling even if she tried, so she doesn’t. 

Actually, she’s been making sure her little thefts are thoroughly covered up, but she wouldn’t tell Raymond that.

The designer has his hands on his hips, huffing like a winded old woman. It didn’t help Darlin was laughing as she tries to appease him.

Their interraction entranced Collette. 

When he saw his muse’s smile, Raymond felt he could finally breathe. Talk about the upcoming wedding is already thick in the streets, he was tense with worry for Darlin. Thankfully, she doesn’t look too depressed. Nonetheless, Raymond assigned the cause of Darlin’s poor health to heartbreak. She tried to be strong, but at the end, you’re also a young girl…

He chattered on as they sat at Darlin’s desk, enjoying the snacks Collette served.

Darlin learnt Henrietta started raising a kitten. She didn’t know the woman liked cats and made a mental note to send some ribbons for it once things become more stable. 

Apparently, Mason has become utterly immersed in designing— almost obsessively. “He looks like a raccoon!” Raymond gripes, but the way he squared his shoulders reveals his pride.

Darlin’s laugh is Raymond’s joy. …Which is why he regrets having to ask, “My darling girl, what is that?” 

Raymond didn’t need to motion to the wedding dress for Darlin to know he was referring to it. She put down her teacup. “Collette, please leave us.”

The maid frowned and looked between Darlin and Raymond. The Lady insists, “Now.”

Obviously reluctant, Collette obeys.

Conversation with Raymond is always light and without intent. It is a spring bursting open, and the sprinkles of water fall wherever they may. 

Raymond is passionate in a way that sweeps a person off their feet before they can help themselves. He laughs without scheme, and his contagious glee is inescapable.

What a shame Darlin only just realized he is the only one in her life she can be so unconstrained with.

Raymond is precious to her, more than Darlin should let him be, still her hunger for vengeance outweighs the whimpers of her shriveled heart.

“You recognize it?”

“How could I not?” Raymond almost couldn’t believe his eyes. 

Viviona Ferris’ last collection was not well received until after her death. In fact, Raymond was present when this very dress was being auctioned. 

The person who purchased it was masked, but certainly a grown man. Raymond wondered, She would have barely entered her teen years when the dress was auctioned, how did she get the money for it? Who did she send to purchase it? He knew Darlin did not trust anyone in her home even before he figured out her little thefts and started helping through faux purchases and reservations.

He knew she knew he knew, but they never spoke about it, and Raymond is fine with that.

A smirk tugs at Raymond lips. As expected of my muse. This is exactly why he could not let Mason design for her with such a half baked views. If Darlin is ever to bloom as magnificently as Raymond knows she can, she will need allies like fertile land, a place that will hold her roots tight as gales try to rip her out, that will not despise her poison but nurture it into a wine others will be grateful to consume. 

The older man places his elbows on the table and rests his face between his palms, mustache curling with his mischievous grin. “We’ll dye it.”

Surprise wipes away Darlin’s thoughts for a moment, leaving her gaping at Raymond.

Where she expected judgment, maybe even disappointment, Raymond gives fellowship without question.

She tries to speak but he holds up a hand. “I won’t stand for my muse catfighting over that motherfu— Ahem!— man.” Raymond swings his fan in a swatting motion. “”Slap a dirty bitch with a fan not your hand”, I always say. Let’s make it red.”

Darlin almost choked as she burst out laughing. “Red?!” She gasps in between giggles. The taboo wedding color that denotes; “I slept with the bride/groom”. Only Raymond would raise such an idea to her.

“But that won’t do either, absolutely not! I gag just imagining anyone thinking you bedded that… person…”

Darlin starts to tear up, knowing it isn’t laughter making her eyes sting. It’s Raymond— whimsical, chattering, needlessly doting Raymond. 

Darlin regretted not meeting Raymond in her other lives. At least now she knows when the seventh, and eighth, and ninth lives come, she can at least look forward to meeting him and Henrietta again. 

With that, she makes another decision. Though they are alone, Darlin signals Raymond closer with a crook of her finger. She whispers to him the significance of the dress, and Raymond shoots out of his seat with cheshire cat grin behind his fan. “No!”

“But yes!” Darlin laughs.

“No!”

“Yes!”

“You wicked thing. You do me proud, my darling girl!”

Raymond rings the service bell and instructs Collette to bring in two of his workers.

Under Raymond’s barking, they tenderly pack the dress and mannequin into a long box. 

Raymond faces Darlin. “What do you think of black?” He pouts.

“They do not deserve my grieving.”

“Rightly said.” He takes Darlin’s hands in his and searches her eyes. “My darling girl, you are so beautiful.” He said this now, so seriously, because in this moment the wall between them is thin. He hopes to strengthen Darlin before she retreats into her fort as she always does.

Tears prick the back of her eyes, and it takes all Darlin has not to sob, “…It makes me happy you see me that way, Sir Ray.” Even though she’s this twisted and marred. 

They part, and Darlin remains by her chest until Collette’s return. “Sir Raymond said your dress will be complete in three days. He also said this work is free on account of your loyal patronage.”

“Did he?” Darlin chortles. Sweet Raymond is giving her an avenue to skim more money from under her parents’ nose.

Finally, she said, “Can you help me with something?”

Collette perks up. “Anything, my Lady.”

Darlin raises a hand to point at the chest, but redirects it towards the closet at the last second. “Help me change, I am going to visit an associate.”

*****

Jorge Adolf isn’t someone Darlin recommends as an associate, but that is the sort of relationship she finds herself having with him. 

Anyone who runs a gossip mill under the guise of news is worth a raised brow at least.

Still, the commoners have patronized “The Clear Eye” since Baron Adolf started his agency dumbing down news for the less educated and showing support during heated talks about freedom of speech. They regard him as their voice, while the nobles rely on him when they want to look good to the lower class. 

“Welcome, my Lady.” Jorge’s Head Maid, Twila, greets. “I already sent word of your presence to his Lordship.” 

“Long time not see, Twila. And thank you.” Darlin makes her way to the library, the place she knows best in Jorge’s home. She points at a couch near a shelf. “Did the Baron redecorate? I do not remember this place being so accommodating?”

“Lord Jorge has started spending more time in the library due to his busy schedule. Can I offer some tea?”

“I would love some.”

After Twila leaves, Darlin removes her hat with a sigh as her hair tumbles free. She was growing tired of needing to hide herself whenever she goes out because Flora and Heinrich went and— “…Oh, right.” She laughs at herself. “That was my fault. But, they left me no choice~”

Darlin skims the books whose spines are yet to be cracked. What sort of work has that man wiling away in here? He doesn’t even like reading. She knows better than anyone how fervent Jorge can be when hunting down the things that tickle his fancy. 

The book she read last time was nowhere to be found, so Darlin takes company with another. 

It was a black, leather bound book with gold inscriptions that have thinned, cracked, and faded with time. “Annos Cinere.” The Age of Ash.

It is a rather dreary name for the era that began the great Empire of Taivaria, but is no less accurate for a time when corpses were always burning.

By the aid of the evil god, Jax’il, demons, once lowly brutes, gained knowledge. 

Due to a sin committed by man long before the Age of Ash, Kronos left mankind to struggle for life until his wrath passed, and his compassion for man was recalled.

He sent down the fiercest god in Celestrum, the great storm, Nova.

For the sake of the universe’s balance, Nova could not very well wipe out every demon, so he killed Jax’il and planted his body into the ground, which became the veins of magic.

As the underworld belongs to demons, so the overworld is man’s. In this way, humanity gained access to magic.

Humanity fought back the demons, and when their adversary retreated, they turned on one another.

Nova saw this was not right, so he found the most righteous of humanity, which were six siblings. From them he chose one and bestowed him a single drop of his blood.

“”A man less than a god, but greater than any other man— Taivaria”.” Darlin reads aloud. Like His Highness. A young boy who turns the tides of war, despairing his enemies before he can even be called a man. As expected of the bloodline blessed by a god.

The library’s doors open, except the one pushing the tea tray in is a man in his thirties. His straight, wheat blond hair stops by his chin, and when he spots Darlin his sleepy, dark blue eyes glitter.

“Lord Adolf,” She sets the book back on the shelf and makes to curtsy. “I apologize for my sudden arrival, I—!” only to be interrupted by Jorge swooping her into a hug.

“My goddess!” Jorge Adolf exclaims. “Ah, how could you abandon your devotee for this long? You’re awfully cruel,” He drops a kiss on Darlin’s hair. “but I love even that about you. You’ve grown wonderfully, I see.” The last time Jorge saw Darlin was some months before she started at the academy. Now, her alluring looks fit her cutting intelligence and unmatched elegance. Her hips have gotten fuller too. Jorge always thought Darlin would be a girl with moderate curves, and while her breasts are not a pair to turn heads, her hips and derrière could have a man dreaming.

Darlin felt slimy all of a sudden. She almost gave an exaggerated sigh of relief when Jorge ascents to her resistance and backs away. He has his arms up in a surrender mismatching his simper. 

She increases the distance by four more steps.

“Always so cold,” Jorge snickers. He waves Darlin to sit while he pours them a cup. “I’d love to believe you’re here because you missed me, but that’s never the case.” He hands Darlin a cup, then plops next to her on the couch. “So, buying or dealing?”

“Dealing.” It felt good no longer needing to sell information to the Baron. In the future, she’ll likely only be trading for favors from him. “I want you to write articles about Prince Ludovik.”

Jorge scoffs. “I’m sure you’re aware of the aristocratic faction’s movements as of late— ambitious sons of bitches that they are.”

“I figured you would jump at this chance, seeing as you hate them so much.”

Jorge throws his teacup aside, neither of them bothered by the shatter, and places one hand on the armrest next to Darlin, the other on backrest so he’s leaning over her. He stares deep into her eyes, blushing at the cold wall that meets him. “…My goddess is a rascally one.”

She pays for his service with a piece of information, “Prince Ludovik will return to the Capital before the summer social season begins.”

Of all the things Jorge expected to pass through those dark pink lips, it wasn’t that.

He opens his mouth to ask if she was serious but changes his mind. This girl has never so much as smiled for me. And while he has no a clue where she gets her information from, she’s never led him wrong.

“Make it grand.” Darlin instructs, “Talk about how he went to the battlefield in Prince Lionel’s place. Mention his liberation of the Isle of Yalia, that he did not condemn the Zuthast citizens to slavery, and how the spoils he collected aided Princess Astoria’s charities, and so on.”

“You’re backing the Prince?” Jorge couldn’t believe it though he just said it. He knows Darlin hates the aristocratic faction too, but this isn’t a jab at them, What a kick to the balls...

“I am simply not supporting Prince Lionel.” She forces Jorge off when she stands and dusts off her skirt. “Will you do it?” 

Those bloody pupils stare at him through the corner of her eyes, as if she could not be bothered to face him. 

Temptation rides Jorge hard, and it was a mountain to self control to only allow himself curl a lock of snow white hair around his fingers and kiss it. “How could I refuse my goddess?”

“Then, I look forward to seeing your work.” As she fits her hat back on, Darlin flippantly awards him, “By the way, your paper on the graduation ceremony was delightful.”

Jorge paused, sputtered, then collapsed into a bout of maniacal laughter. “Fuck,” He breathed once Darlin was gone. “I think I love her.”