“There are three spells,” Flan said, voice calm as still water. “But outside, Miss Alicia can’t draw a large array, so only two paths remain.”

“One is a coin toss—fifty percent—slow as a ferry in fog, four hours long, but safe as a lantern behind glass. The other is a sharp knife—ninety percent—instant as thunder, but it shaves life: at best torn skin, at worst a wounded brain. Which road do you choose, Miss Alicia?”

Classic fork-in-the-road, like two trails in the rain: sacrifice a piece of Elfe for Ling’s goal, or risk failure to shelter Elfe.

Back then, Alicia hadn’t thought that far; with Flan’s library for a spine, she thought any random spell could pluck this thorn of a “curse.”

Now, the taste of it was bitter as cold tea; she’d have to pay for her own rashness.

“Th—then let’s use the fi—”

“No need to twist yourself into knots,” Flan cut in, light as spring wind. “I’ll inscribe both spells onto slips and send them over. Decide at your own pace, like choosing between two cups of tea.”

A soft glow lit her index fingers, one ember-red, one river-blue. Two lines unfurled in the air like a child’s doodles, then flashed like fish scales in sun. Two long slips—one red, one blue—floated into being.

Flan pinched each by the edge, fingers like dragonflies. A tug, a ripple, and they vanished. The next blink, they hovered before Alicia like twin leaves.

“Take your time, Sister Alicia. When you need one, just tear that slip, and the spell will bloom.” Flan’s gaze darted toward Remi, her ear tips flushing like cherry petals, and she ended the video call in a hurry, like a door closed on a secret.

Just tear the one you want—easy as snapping a twig, she thought, but the branch felt like iron.

“Ling, what do you think…”

She turned, words like birds in her throat, and saw the petite girl already asleep, breath soft as a cat curled on a windowsill. Her mouth closed, and the birds flew away.

Watching that soundly sleeping girl, an odd thought rose like mist: don’t let petty storms soak Ling’s bright, ordinary day.

Let the bad weather fall on me, she decided, a stone sinking with quiet resolve.

On tiptoe, Alicia slipped out, careful with the wooden door that squeaked like a mouse. She let it close as gently as falling snow, then went alone to find Elfe.

Barely a minute passed. Ling’s eyes opened, clear as dawn after rain. She slid into her shoes without a whisper, gaze fixed on the door like a hawk on a ridge, a different light glinting there.

—

“I think Elfe said… Room 233… ah, there it is!”

A corridor stretched long as a river, doors identical as raindrops, numbers the only ripples.

They said whenever Elfe ran out and got hauled back, they tucked her here under soft house arrest, and changed rooms each time. By that count, she’d fled two hundred times—a wild wind in a green cage.

Alicia smiled at that unbowed, free-heart like a kite tugging its string. She checked her watch—[00:00], a midnight pond—and pushed open [233].

“Princess Alicia!!”

The door was half-open when a figure sprang like a cat and tackled Alicia to the floor, cheeks hot as ripe peaches.

With Yokai strength, Alicia pushed Elfe back into the room like moving a gust back through a window. She stepped in after her and clicked the lock, neat as a nail set with one tap.

“Oh~ is Princess Alicia here to do something shameful with Elfe?” Elfe breathed, baring a pale shoulder like moonlight on porcelain. She leaned on the bed, face flushed, eyes averted like a shy fox, her elfin scent sweet as spring grass—and somehow a rosy backdrop glowed behind her, as if she’d painted the air pink.

Any man would have pounced like a starving wolf.

Too bad Alicia was a woman who doted on Yufan Ling; the charm washed over her like rain on stone.

Smack!

“Behave,” she said, a forehead flick snapping like a twig. “You’re an elf, not a succubus. And I can’t stand succubi.”

“No more circling around. I’m here to lift your ‘curse,’” she said, words steady as a drawn blade.

“Huh? Wasn’t Mom and the others handling that? When did it become Princess Alicia?” Elfe’s surprise popped like a soap bubble.

“Mm… your mother and I made it a race, see who lifts your ‘curse’ first,” Alicia said, light as a leaf skimming water.

“With my life and death as the stakes?” Elfe’s voice dropped, cold as shade under pine.

In an instant, the room’s warmth sank like a stone into a well, the cold pooling around Elfe as the center.

“When did I agree to you gambling with my life!” Her anger burst like a storm squall, raw and sudden.

“Wait—no, Elfe, what’s wrong?” Alicia’s worry flared first, then her voice followed, quick as a hand reaching into fire.

Elfe didn’t seem to hear. Magic around her stirred like a beehive kicked awake, the air pressure rising in tight circles. The wind pressed in, a restless tide, and though it couldn’t harm Alicia, it was still a bad omen, dark as thunderheads stacking over the sea.