Moliya’er’s party preparations had thrown the entire Dolun City into a frenzy.
Adventurers here, as well as the young nobles and representatives from various factions who were invited, were all busy making arrangements.
But there was one exception.
Even though she was at the center of this whirlpool, she had no idea what she should be doing.
That was Elka·Muzan, currently lying on her bed in a room not far from Flora.
Her eyes were red and puffy, dark circles under them, as she stared blankly at the ceiling.
Her messy long hair sprawled across the bed, and the strap of her nightgown had slipped off her shoulder carelessly.
The elven witch whom everyone thought of as having exquisite features, only associated with all things beautiful—mysterious, dignified, and graceful—now looked no different from a woman who had lost her child.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Why do you care? Mind your own business. If you dare to spy on me, I’ll ruin your eyes, believe it or not.”
“Such a foul temper. That’s rare.”
Moliya’er’s teasing tone made Elka quite irritated.
She wanted nothing more than to destroy the communication crystal in the room so she wouldn’t have to hear that person’s voice anymore.
But doing so would only make her even more agitated.
Three days.
It had been three whole days since she last stepped out the door, and three days since she’d had a good night’s sleep.
Her food and drink were left at her door by maids, and after picking at it absentmindedly, she lost her appetite.
She usually bathed at least once a day, but now she hadn’t even bothered with that.
She simply tossed and turned in bed wearing the same light nightgown from days ago.
Elka couldn’t understand why she had fallen into such a state.
She had lived for over a thousand years, yet this was the first time she’d suffered from insomnia and such relentless agitation.
Not only did she feel no fatigue, she actually felt even more restless.
“Damn it.”
Lying on her bed, she clenched her fists and pounded the mattress, grabbing the small mirror at her side.
Seeing her own dark-ringed eyes, she threw the mirror to the floor.
It was just too miserable.
“Sleep…”
She pulled out her magic wand again, waved it, and cast a sleep spell on herself.
If she didn’t sleep soon, she’d look truly unsightly.
But such magic had no effect.
Ever since she decided to return to her room to think things over and tried to use magic to help her sleep, the moment she closed her eyes, the same image would surface in her mind.
A blue-haired girl, smiling with a look of apology on her face.
“Mm, thank you for helping me, Elka. Ahaha… Next time, try to protect yourself first. I don’t want to see you hurt either.”
This time was no exception.
She jerked her eyes open and sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for breath.
Fake gratitude, false smiles, perfunctory laughter.
How did these things end up coming together on Flora’s face, and become so deeply etched into her mind?
She hadn’t sensed anything off at the time, yet this particular scene kept replaying itself over and over these last few days.
Even memory-erasing spells couldn’t get rid of it, and it tormented her nerves.
“Did you cast some kind of spell on me?”
Elka knew better than anyone that there were no traces of mental magic affecting her.
She believed that the old her would never have thought such things, but now, she had to accept these baseless suspicions.
[That’s right, I must have been hit by some kind of magic.]
She thought, somewhat neurotically.
Days of insomnia and unresolved anxiety had pushed her mind close to collapse.
This was all a chain reaction caused by Flora’s change and that special healing effect.
Elves were natural rulers of the domain of magic, and Elka’s own gift was simply “magic” itself.
In other words, from birth, she had stood at the highest point of the concept of magic.
Pure power—this was how people perceived her in the era she flourished.
And the Longevous, thanks to their lengthy lifespans, tended to be immature and arrogant toward short-lived races, yet also intrigued by their rich emotions.
This elf, who had lived for a millennium, had taken this trait to the extreme due to her talent.
Her childishness manifested as a simple “competitive streak”—in her eyes, anyone who couldn’t match her in magic wasn’t worth considering, barely even a person.
This led her to be even more arrogant than her kin, turning her interest in human emotions into nothing but entertainment.
No one could ever make her calm down enough to understand those feelings, so for a long time, she had only ever imitated socialites from her own experience, toying with those who coveted her beauty, until it became a habit.
Now, at last, she was facing the consequences.
Someone she had always been able to manipulate suddenly showed such dazzling talent in the field of magic, and even dared to reject her little acts.
Her rules of conduct and self-image had both been directly challenged and disrupted.
At first, this made Elka feel excited and eager.
This was a rare and novel amusement.
Wasn’t it much more interesting than that old Fros fellow?
But soon enough, she realized there was a problem.
[Flora, did you already figure out that I was deceiving you? Do you hate me now?]
If Flora learned the truth, Elka would become the person she resented most.
What she’d told Moliya’er in the study that day had become a prophecy.
Living for a thousand years without ever meeting anyone who could interest her, Elka was, without a doubt, lonely at heart.
Now, she’d finally found someone who fit her standard for friendship in Flora—yet at any moment, she might face an unbridgeable rift and coldness.
With the slightest catalyst from Flora’s abilities, she felt worry and fear for the first time.
Worse still, due to her emotional immaturity, she failed to recognize this for what it was, and instead spiraled into anxiety and mania.
Elka hugged her head tightly, hoping to calm herself, but it was useless.
Moliya’er’s voice piped up again at just the right moment.
“Elka, do you want to get a good night’s sleep?”
“You know I’m suffering from insomnia?”
She regretted her words as soon as they left her mouth.
A soft laugh came from the communicator.
“You haven’t gone out for days and have no appetite. If you were sleeping well, that’d be a miracle. Don’t worry, Flora was just asking after you. Go see her. If our Archmage doesn’t attend the party in good shape, I’ll have a headache.”
“If you dare tell anyone what I look like right now, I’ll rip your mouth apart.”
“Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, will you? Really, Flora wouldn’t be able to bear seeing you like this. That’s all from me. Hope you can get a good night’s sleep.”
Elka resisted the urge to blast the communicator with magic, because someone soon knocked on the door.
“Who is it?”
She frowned, not bothering to use magic to check who was outside.
Instinctively, she wondered:
[Is it Flora?]
The voice from outside quickly shattered her fantasy.
“It’s me, Linko, Miss Elka.”
“What is it? Hurry up.”
Hearing who it was, Elka’s impatience spiked at once.
That scene that kept replaying in her mind also featured this maid.
[If things had gone as planned, the one Flora comforted and cared for that day should have been me—but you…]
As soon as that thought emerged, Elka shook her head in annoyance.
She shouldn’t be having such thoughts.
No, her feelings for Flora were only out of a refusal to accept defeat, not real affection.
She had to make that clear.
She’d lived so long—could a mere short-lived race really reduce her to this state?
Her pride as an elf, tinged with sour jealousy toward Linko, stirred within her, and suddenly, Elka found herself much calmer—and a little sleepy.
“Miss Flora is resting.”
“Hm?”
What does that mean?
The footsteps outside faded away.
Elka paused, recalling Moliya’er’s words, then looked down at her own wretched state.
She pursed her lips, walked to the door, and hesitantly placed her hand on the handle.
[She said Flora was thinking about me? If she saw me like this, what would she think?]