Sorry?
Why would she say something like that to her?
Did something happen that would warrant an apology from the maid?
But these days, what could possibly have happened outside for Linka to apologize to her about?
Flora couldn’t think of anything.
Last time, when she was forced to whip her, Flora had already begun to analyze Linka’s control magic to prevent it from happening again.
Although innate magic was basically unbreakable and could only be weakened, this time Linka had only used her magic as an aid to help her relax and fall asleep, so its effects weren’t strong to begin with.
With a bit of effort, Flora could break free from sleep without much trouble.
Besides, the dreams that awaited her upon falling asleep were most likely the sweet illusions Moria had prepared for her—she really didn’t want to drift off just yet.
[I have a strange feeling that something is about to happen.]
After a relatively calm period, remembering her string of misfortunes in the early days, Flora was unwilling to simply attribute her sense of foreboding to the upcoming banquet.
She planned to keep thinking about it, but conflicting emotions welled up inside her again.
The effect of the control magic had been neutralized, but Linka’s massage technique was simply too good.
Her body, so thoroughly relaxed, found it difficult to tense up again, and she could feel her body signaling her to just fall asleep.
Flora blinked.
[Does that mean I can’t do anything except sleep? If I’d known, I would have just gone to bed obediently.]
She closed her eyes in frustration.
Worst of all, her mind began wandering to Elka again.
Even though she knew that Elka was just playing the “good cop” to Moria’s “bad cop,” and understood that the Elven lady had never truly hoped for her escape.
She knew that all the kindness she’d perceived from the mage was just an act, a false image composed of performance and her own wishful thinking.
She also understood that even if she saw Elka now, she wouldn’t be able to greet her with a pleasant face.
Yet, as soon as she stopped thinking, the physiologically-rooted attachment, briefly suppressed by the breach of trust, would surface again, making the elf the first person to come to mind.
The magic Elka had expended to reshape her body was no small amount; otherwise, Flora wouldn’t be so obsessed.
[Elka is the birth mother, Moria is the adoptive mother, and Tatacimi is the stepmother…]
This line of thinking was twisted, yet it explained, in vivid terms, the attitudes and relationships these three had with her.
Today, Flora had asked Linka about her own situation partly to reduce Moria’s suspicions, to maintain the illusion that she was still in a state of deception—so she could take more actions in the future.
After all, if she revealed her hand too early, Moria’s response would be even more unpredictable.
With these thoughts churning, Flora felt more and more bored, and drowsiness overtook her.
She simply emptied her mind and let herself drift toward sleep.
But just as she began to do so, she heard a faint sound.
Someone was tiptoeing toward the room—the footsteps were so light, it was almost unnatural.
[No shoes?]
Flora wondered, wanting to sit up and look at the door, but her rationality held her back.
She decided to lie low and wait.
Just who would go to such lengths to sneak in?
Her curiosity was piqued.
The door creaked open softly.
She carefully drew a deep breath, trying to catch a scent and deduce the intruder’s identity.
The smell was unfamiliar—a faintly sour gardenia fragrance.
She’d never used such a strange perfume.
That meant the person was a stranger.
Hopefully, it was someone at odds with Moria, an intruder searching for the secrets of this villa—someone who would even abduct her.
That would certainly throw a new twist into things.
As she hoped for this, she suddenly realized how odd it was to judge others by scent.
Considering her current state—imprisoned and tamed—Flora’s expression darkened.
Wasn’t this the kind of thing a pet would do?
As soon as the thought occurred, Moria’s teasing smile flashed before her eyes.
[Damn it.]
Don’t tell her that woman was here to continue what she started that day!
Flora muttered to herself, subconsciously squeezing her legs together.
But the moonlight hadn’t yet entered the room.
In the dim space, there was no way to see who was sneaking in.
In this situation, pretending to be asleep was undoubtedly the best choice.
Although she dreaded the idea of reliving that day—being pinned to the bed by Moria—Flora forced herself to relax and breathe steadily.
After all, she could feel the scorching gaze falling on her from the doorway.
The visitor was keeping their distance, as if hesitating whether to come closer.
Just from this, it was hard to believe this intruder was someone she knew well.
Yet, ironically, the one attempting a night raid on her was the very elf she’d longed for, the one she hadn’t seen in days.
[So she… just came in like that.]
Elka subconsciously placed her right hand over her heart, which was beating unnaturally fast—such a feeling was far too rare.
The last time something had made her heart race like this was five hundred years ago, after defeating a grand mage.
Since then, she’d never felt this mix of excitement, nervousness, and worry.
She missed it, and wanted to figure out how to keep feeling this way.
So she hesitated. Instead of rushing over to Flora, she lingered by the door, staring at the little shadow on the bed, trying to sort out her feelings—trying to figure out what she should say, what she wanted to do.
In fact, just like she’d hesitated at the door that day, even after entering the room, she still wondered, “Why did I come here?”
But compared to before, now she felt a powerful urge—as long as she interacted with Flora, talked with her, was intimate with this little girl, all her current troubles and anxieties would evaporate like clouds.
But…
But, but, but?
That would mean making an unprecedented choice—setting aside her former pride, no longer playing the seemingly compassionate yet actually aloof Elven mage, choosing instead to seek Flora’s comfort in a way that was almost abject.
And she had to be ready—prepared for the possibility that everything she’d done in the past had already been exposed, and that Flora would meet her with only cold rejection.
[Why couldn’t you have just been like this from the start?]
She grumbled inwardly, blaming Fros.
If only they hadn’t needed to do all this, if only Fros could have grown into who she was now on her own, that would have been wonderful.
Thinking of this, she started blaming Moria again.
If it weren’t for that madwoman’s twisted hobbies, if things had gone according to her plan and she had gradually guided Fros to willingly become like this, there wouldn’t have been so many complications, nor would she have been forced into playing the “good cop.”
Because of all that, she had ended up so flustered, all to save and make amends.
Thinking about it, Elka grew even more frustrated.
This was putting the cart before the horse.
If it weren’t for Moria’s arrangements, she never would have found Flora, who—after a thousand years—could finally make her feel this way again.
In the end, it was all fate.
[So this is what they call destiny and romance, eh? Lord God, your trials and rewards are both so troublesome.]
No matter what, what she’d done to Fros in the past was unforgivable for someone who now wanted to be Flora’s confidant.
And the chance to make up for it was slim to none.
She shouldn’t even think about making amends, or feel guilty—she didn’t even need to abandon her so-called pride.
If she was wrong, she might as well be wrong all the way.
After all, wasn’t her greatest talent over the years deception?
If she couldn’t fool Flora, she could still fool herself.
With that thought, Elka stopped overthinking, and tiptoed toward the bed.
But she had underestimated her own impatience for Flora.
The calm she had managed to maintain vanished the moment she reached the bedside.
By the time she realized what she was doing, the covers were already lifted, and her hand was gripping Flora’s ankle.