Repeat the same mistake?

Hooves whispered past the window, white as bone china. The pegasus didn’t touch earth, stepping instead on a carpet of rainbow light that bloomed midair. Each touch rang crisp, like a finger tapping cellophane. One beat after another, clock-steady, echoing through a luxury carriage built for one.

The perfect white noise didn’t soothe her. The quiet only sharpened the bite in her chest. Adelaide’s thoughts kept flashing back to the last exchange, her face darkening like storm glass.

Mistake? What mistake?

What was that—preaching? A warning?

That guy had tossed most of his past into the Void Rift. Woke up with less than a century of memory, give or take. How dare he act like a seasoned mentor schooling her, as if she knew nothing and he knew everything?

Crystal lamps washed Adelaide’s face with soft light. Yet shadows climbed her eyes, a thick scarlet bloom spreading like ink in water. Her expression sank, heavy as dusk.

Why did Emperor Belior die?

She didn’t know. The Empire’s records on its founding emperor were fogged over with myth, neither clear nor trustworthy.

The exact cause? Maybe someone knew. Adelaide didn’t, and didn’t care.

Whatever killed him didn’t change what she would do next.

The point was simple: the man died, and his heart sat on display in the sanctum at Balad. That one fact mattered. The rest was noise.

Right now, she had a more important plan.

She shut her eyes and drew a long breath, like drawing in cold mountain air. She pulled the carriage curtain. Red light sparked at her fingertips. A heartbeat later, she pressed them to her clothing.

Fabric unraveled. Her dignified elven cheongsam went up like white paper in flame, crumbling to ash. The proud curve of a woman’s body emerged, all smooth lines and quiet heat.

The dissolving cloth didn’t vanish. It gathered midair, sifted and refined, then condensed into a vague little mist that hovered over her finger.

She leaned in, nostrils flaring. A dense perfume rushed in, sharp enough to sting. One inhale painted her cheeks a faint, ripe pink.

It was an elf’s body-scent. The kind that made males feel visceral disgust, yet tugged at a female’s appetite like wine under the tongue.

Its source was obvious: Menglan, who had just spoken with her.

She didn’t extract it for some perverse thrill. Adelaide had no interest in that fossil’s smell. Her mouth curled in distaste as she slid the gathered scent into a small glass vial. She sealed it clean, no lingering look, then turned and opened the carriage cabinet. She pulled out what she’d prepared long ago, one piece after another.

A thin corset. A loose silver sequin dress, held by a single string across the back. Semi-transparent white stockings. Elegant fabric draped her again, like moonlight dressing a lake. She put the clothes on, then made small, intentional creases, like footprints on snow. She checked the round mirror, adjusting and readjusting to craft the feeling that she had gone out in this outfit and come home late.

Finally, the stockings snapped into place, hugging her thighs with a soft, elastic kiss. Silk gloves slid on, patient and aristocratic. Adelaide finished her makeup, turned her face to the mirror’s gleam, and let the gloom in her eyes ease, like fog burnt off by dawn.

Meeting Menglan, she had looked prim, like a pure maiden straight out of a period drama. Now she looked like a woman returning from a revel, pearls of laughter still clinging to her hair—save for her gaze. Her pupils held a lucid red, every shade edged with calculation, calm as frost.

She breathed into her palm, not to check her breath.

The opposite. She frowned at the emptiness. Then she took out a small vial of clear liquid. She closed her eyes and drank it down. Her lashes trembled, like moth wings at dusk.

She exhaled again. The air carried a definite, pleasant trace of wine.

This time, she nodded, satisfied.

Her preparations were complete. The hoofbeats stopped, clean as a bell. The pegasus whickered, a trumpet for arrival.

Adelaide tucked the vial with Menglan’s scent into her bodice. She stepped down from the carriage and crossed into her courtyard.

The first thing she saw beyond the gate was light.

Soft candle glow filtered through gauzy window silk, as thin as cicada wings. It traced the furniture’s bones and cast a body’s shadow on the screen. The shape was restless, pacing like a paper silhouette in a shadow play, every twitch exposed for Adelaide’s eyes.

She stared at the familiar outline. She lowered her lids and drew one last steadying breath, then pushed her door open.

“Sis—!”

Mira had been sitting with her hands clasped, as if praying to a nervous god. She jolted up like she’d been whipped, spine going ramrod straight. Even a parade drill would envy that posture. Yet panic washed her face flush, a storm in those clear blue eyes. Her mouth opened and closed, soundless, as if language had abandoned her.

Adelaide’s mouth twitched. She couldn’t help the laugh. “Oh my, am I dressed that terribly? I open the door, and my cute little sister looks like she’s seen a ghost.”

“N-no, it’s not… I, I just…”

“Relax. I’m teasing. Welcome home, Mira.”

Adelaide cut off the flustered explanation. Mira’s gaze kept skittering, like a butterfly trapped in a jar. Adelaide stepped to the table, pressed Mira gently back into the chair, and took the seat opposite. She tilted her head and met those eyes.

“It’s been so long. I missed you,” she said, voice sweet as night rain on tiles. “Truly. I thought of you every night till I couldn’t sleep.”

She reached out. White silk gloves, pure as snow, slid between Mira’s fingers. Ten fingers interlaced. Mira’s reflexive retreat met velvet and stopped.

“And you, Mira? These six months—did you think of me? Hmm?”

“I… I did…” Mira stammered and stuttered, repeating herself like a stuck wind-up toy. Finally she lowered her head, voice small as candle flame. “I… kept… thinking about you.”

Light sparked in Adelaide’s eyes. “Ah, that makes me so happy. A thousand miles apart, barely time for letters—but our hearts still rhyme.”

“Uh… mhm, mhm…”

Mira’s face had gone as red as a ripe cherry. Her head dropped so low it seemed ready to bury itself in the floor. Adelaide watched, amused, then let the teasing rest. Her gaze slid to the bamboo basket by Mira’s chair. She cocked her head.

“What’s all that?”

Mira grabbed the lifeline. She spun, cheeks crimson to bleeding point, then snatched something from the basket at a speed that left afterimages. She set it on the table with a sharp tap and slid it toward Adelaide, careful as offering incense.

“Mm? A necklace?”

Mira nodded fast, then pointed at the pendant set with a red gemstone, launching into a pitch like a door-to-door seller. “Th-this is Bloodcloud stone. Anta found it while training against monsters in the forest. It’s a rare mineral in Nacha Tribe lands. If you crush it, it works as emergency aid for a short time. For people with anemia, wearing it helps blood production. Anta wanted to give it to her teacher. She spent three months learning forgecraft from a Nacha smith—”

She spoke faster and faster. Adelaide listened to the clearly rehearsed spiel. She didn’t call it out. She smiled and watched Mira, then picked up the necklace and studied it.

“What lovely lines. You can feel the maker’s care. Anta is a good student.”

Adelaide put on the necklace. The pendant didn’t quite reach the dress’s low neckline. It lay against bare skin, the red stone nestling in the deep valley of her chest, a tiny beacon pointing Mira’s gaze like an arrow.

“How is it? Does it suit me?”

“…”

Mira froze. She swallowed. Only when Adelaide touched her nose with a light, laughing tap did Mira snap awake, whipping her eyes aside like an escaping deer.

“Mm! It suits you. And also—this—!”

The pivot was so stiff it creaked. Then—bang. Mira hauled the big bamboo basket onto the table, hiding her nearly exploding blush behind it. Only her hands showed, darting in and pulling out one odd item after another.

“Th-this is sky fish jerky. It’s a higher grade treat than earth biscuits, a Nacha Tribe delicacy. The Nacha chief asked me to bring it as his highest respect!”

“Wow. It looks delicious,” Adelaide said, chin in hand, smile soft as silk. “But it’s so late. If I eat now, I’ll get fat…”

“N-no worries! This next one is sweet tea from central Sanda. It refreshes the mind and eases sore backs and legs. Pengpeng’s father picks it himself every year in the mountains. It’s pure and natural. Brewed, it’s sweet with a milky fragrance yet has no calories. Drink it at night and you won’t gain weight!”

“Does it? But drinking tea at midnight might keep me up—”

“—Then use this sachet! It’s Teximia dried flowers, planted and sun-dried by Pengpeng and the orphanage kids. One breath brings calm and focus. Put it by your pillow for a minute—no, thirty seconds—and you’ll fall asleep!”

“…Pfft. That sounds like some kind of suspicious miracle cure.”

Adelaide laughed, propping her face on her palm as Mira rummaged like the cartoon cat with a bottomless pocket. Local Sanda mementos came out. So did handmade flower wreaths braided with the orphanage’s love. And there were expensive gifts meant to charm an honorary Flower Dancer.

Gift price, gift intent—it didn’t matter.

She cared about one thing. Mira’s trembling.

Of course she saw it. The frantic show-and-tell was just a smokescreen over fear.

And the reason behind that fear? Adelaide knew it too well.

No one knew better than her what had happened between them after the fight with Mattis.

Yes, like Menglan teased, Adelaide had confessed their feelings then. But sweetness didn’t follow. A cold war did.

The cause was simple. Mira refused, no matter what, to tell Adelaide what Mattis’s final words had been.

The worst man in the world burned his life away to deliver a message. That would never be harmless, never a joke.

That truth needed no proof. When Adelaide realized his last target wasn’t her but Mira, terror slammed into her like a winter wave. She checked Mira from head to toe, frantic and thorough.

To her surprise, Mira’s every metric was normal. No new curses clung to her skin.

The Follower of Pleasure, Mattis—at the end, he had only given her one sentence. Nothing else.

That calmed Adelaide. For a moment.

Then her heart climbed the cliff again.

Because Mira still refused to tell her what he had said.

No matter how Adelaide pressed her, Mira stayed silent. Adelaide even shouted, rare as thunder in summer. Mira would not speak. She held her silence until their last conversation, six months ago.

By then Adelaide was desperate. She couldn’t understand what Mira was hiding. After a long silence, Mira only said, in a voice soft enough to bruise—

It’s something that would make you sad, Sis.

So I will never say it.

That answer lit Adelaide’s anger like a fuse. She was furious—truly furious. In a rash moment, she had Mira transferred away. She didn’t want to see the face that dared disobey her.

…Looking back now, that was a stupid decision.

There was no need for it. She only ever wanted Mira to stay, forever, at her side.

Adelaide watched her sister still hiding her face behind the bamboo basket, and a thread of loneliness crept into her gaze like frost on a quiet lake.

Meanwhile the bamboo basket, like a bottomless treasure pouch, finally neared its end; Mira’s hands stopped, and she froze like a magician without a prop, silence pooling like fog.

After a long beat, a mosquito-thin whisper floated from behind the basket, like a gnat skimming dusk.

“Sorry, sister...” Her words fell like dew on cold stone.

Mira clenched both hands and pinned them to her knees, rigid as tied reeds; Adelaide waited, calm as still water, with no hint of hope in her eyes.

“About that thing... I know you were worried about me, but it really isn’t important...” Her voice wavered like a paper lantern in wind.

Ah—of course. The thought slid through Adelaide’s mind like a shadow over moonlight.

She’d brought so many “gifts,” chattered till the last moment, and only poked the elephant in the room when words ran dry, like tapping a sealed drum.

It meant she still didn’t want to tell me, the truth folded away like a letter hidden under a pillow.

To be honest, even now, seeing Mira break her oath so boldly and hide secrets like smoldering coal, anger flared in Adelaide’s chest like a wildfire.

She felt the urge to shred the basket between them with one swipe, like claws through dry bamboo.

Luckily, these half-year of distance let her settle her heart, like silt sinking in a river.

Now she held a complete plan, tucked sharp as a knife beneath silk.

“Even if you knew, it wouldn’t change anything, and you’d only be upset, so—” Her sentence snapped as the room fell dark, like dusk swallowing a candle.

“Eh? The candles went out... I’ll light them—uh!?” Her words stumbled like a moth hitting glass.

She rose, then in the corner of her eye the basket slid aside without a sound, like a boat drifting from shore.

The next instant, warm lips pressed to hers, soft as petals after rain.

Mira’s eyes flew wide; Adelaide’s face was a breath away, long lashes almost brushing the corner of her eyes like feathers.

After half a year, they kissed again, like a spring returning to a dry well.

As before, the kiss struck without warning; Mira couldn’t even steal a breath, and almost choked on her own spit like a fish startled.

It wasn’t the first time, though; when the long kiss ended, her near-overloaded brain rebooted like a cooled engine.

She didn’t collapse; instead she caught Adelaide’s shoulders, because Adelaide melted against her like snow against bark.

“Honestly, after so long apart, why come back just to talk trivial things? Kiss me, okay...” Her plea drifted like plum scent in night.

“W-wait...” Mira started, then the scent so close made her frown like a crease in paper.

“Sis, did you... drink?” The question quivered like a string in mist.

“Mm, had a little tonight... hehe~” Adelaide leaned her head on Mira’s shoulder, laughter tingling like wine bells.

The tipsy sound brushed Mira’s ear; heat flushed visible along her rim like sunrise on a ridge.

Adelaide quietly crushed the glass vial in her arms, like ice snapping under heel, and Mira didn’t even flinch.

She only gripped tighter and stood there, rooted like a tree in rain.

“I... I see...” Mira bit her lip, as if holding back, like a dam bearing weight.

She caught the scent that belonged to an Elf, and in the end she asked, “Did you go out... with someone?” The words floated like a leaf downstream.

“With Miss Lianke.” The familiar name rang like an old bell in a courtyard.

Adelaide felt the body in her arms go rigid at once, heartbeat trembling like a drum touched by wind.

Mira’s gaze pinned to the sequin dress that looked ready to slip, like starlight about to spill.

“Sis... did you wear this... to go?” Her question peered like a sparrow from eaves.

“Mm? What’s wrong?” The answer fell light, like dust on silk.

“...No, nothing.” Her denial folded like a fan closed too fast.

Adelaide hummed in her heart, a small thunder under skin, and thought, What a coward.

We kissed in front of the whole Elven Realm; what’s wrong with showing a little displeasure when I see another woman? The thought flickered like a torch.

She rolled her eyes in silent frustration, like a stone skipping water, and then heat rose in her own face like embers.

Not for anything else, but because she knew what she was about to do, like a diver at the cliff.

By now, there was no turning back, the road behind already mist.

She drew a deep breath and whispered at Mira’s ear, words warm as breath on glass.

“Ugh, dealing with those spiritual old biddies is exhausting; I want a bath!” Her complaint splashed like hot water.

“O-oh!” Mira flushed again, flustered as tossed petals, saying she’d wait for her to finish.

She tried to pull away, but Adelaide caught her wrist and guided her hand to the lone thin string at her back, like leading a kite.

Then, a gentle tug. The sound fell like a ripe fruit.

The loose dress dropped to the floor, pooling like silver water.

Along with it, the pillar named reason toppled in Mira’s mind, like a brittle column shattering.

“Eh... eh?” Her voice hopped like a startled bird.

In the dim room, Adelaide stood there bare as moonlight, a figure like a statue warmed by breath.

She was a little shorter than Mira, yet her curves outstripped hers like full hills beside plains.

Under the thin veil called night, she offered herself without reserve, like a lake unveiled at dawn.

Heaven, what a body—no sculptor in the Empire could capture one thousandth of her now, like hands failing to hold light.

Naturally, Mira froze, system locked like a stalled screen; she couldn’t even turn away out of courtesy.

“Hey... Mira?” Adelaide drew Mira’s hand and set it on the softness of her chest, like placing palm on warm bread.

Her ruby eyes shone wet, touched by a trace of wine, looking up from below like a fox in snow, begging.

“The Fana Family bathhouse will close soon... Don’t you want to bathe with your sister?” The invitation rippled like steam across water.