The echo of Elara's footsteps faded into the corridors, and silence returned like a veil draped over the mansion. Seraphine stood still, her pulse heavy, her lips curling faintly at the memory of the princess's words. The butler. Always him. Always Elric, silent, steadfast, untouchable her most beautiful sin.
A heat gathered in her chest, not the warmth of affection but something sharper, clawing, as if the soul inside her body was not built for gentleness. She turned quickly, skirts sweeping against the marble, her eyes wild and fever-bright. Every step was drawn toward him, as though an invisible string had fastened her heart to his shadow.
When she found him, waiting in the hall with his usual composure, her restraint shattered.
