Eleanor yawned softly, stretching slightly as she glanced outside through the slightly open wooden window. The sky was still bright—fortunately, that meant she had about two more hours before sunset when Alger would return to the residence. That was plenty of time to relax without worrying about being caught.
Leaning back into the wooden chair, she let the atmosphere of the florist wash over her. The scent of wood, mixed with hints of chamomile and fresh flowers, was incredibly calming. It was a stark contrast to the turmoil in her mind from earlier.
Do most priests smell this... natural? Eleanor wondered, a bit envious.
At least Ralph's information had been accurate. Clarence really was a priest. Even without prior knowledge, Eleanor felt an instinctive certainty about it.
Is this because I've read the novel's original plot? Or do I have some kind of special intuition as the older sister of this world's author? Eleanor mused, before scoffing at herself.
