«CHAPTER– 19&20»
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The clearing fell into a dreadful silence.
The storm of dust settled slowly, revealing devastation where laughter had once echoed. The men who had tormented her lay scattered across the ground, unmoving.
The scent of smoke and iron lingered heavily in the air.
Duncan stood at the center of it all.
Blood streaked across his face and clothing, but his expression was no longer savage. It was cold.
Controlled. Calculating.
Thalira collapsed before him, her body limp as darkness claimed her.
The smirk faded from his lips.
For a fleeting moment, something shifted in his eyes.
He stepped toward her slowly, the fury that had consumed him moments earlier now restrained beneath a rigid calm. Kneeling beside her, he studied her bruised face, the blood at her lip, the trembling of her fragile breaths.
His jaw tightened.
A dangerous silence surrounded him.
Above, Giantica circled once, her massive wings cutting through the clouds like blades. She observed quietly, her crimson gaze sharp with understanding.
Carefully, Duncan untied the ropes binding her wrists. The coarse fibers fell away, leaving angry marks against her skin.
His fingers hovered for a moment before brushing against her cheek — gentler than anyone would have believed possible of him.
The air trembled again — not with rage this time, but with something darker.
Possession.
Far beyond the clearing, Prince Kealric reappeared atop a distant ridge, Arabella at his side.
"He's worse than the rumors," Arabella whispered.
Kealric's eyes narrowed as he watched Duncan lift Thalira into his arms.
"No," Kealric replied quietly. "He's far more dangerous than that."
Duncan rose to his feet, Thalira cradled against his chest as though she weighed nothing. His gaze swept the ruined clearing once — not in regret, not in satisfaction — but in warning.
Let the world understand what happens to those who touch what is his.
With a single commanding glance skyward, Giantica descended.
Ashkaroth would remember this night.
Giantica lowered her vast body until her scaled flank hovered just above the ground. The wind from her wings pressed the grass flat in rippling waves. Duncan stepped forward without hesitation, Thalira secure in his arms.
For a moment, he paused.
His gaze dropped to her face.
Unconscious. Pale. Fragile.
His jaw tightened again.
"Easy," he muttered under his breath — though whether he spoke to her… or to himself… even he did not know.
With a single, effortless motion, he ascended onto the dragon's lowered wing and settled against the base of her neck, positioning
Thalira carefully against his chest.
One arm wrapped around her protectively, the other braced against the dragon's scaled ridge.
Giantica's crimson eyes flickered downward.
"You risk much for one mortal girl," she rumbled, her voice vibrating through the air.
Duncan's expression did not soften.
"She is not just a girl." A pause.
"She is mine."
The dragon exhaled slowly, smoke curling from her nostrils. Whether it was amusement or warning was unclear.
"As you wish, Prince of Dominion," she said at last.
With a powerful thrust of her wings, Giantica rose.
The earth cracked beneath the force. Trees bent violently as the dragon ascended into the darkening sky, carrying Duncan and Thalira high above the clearing.
From the distant ridge, Kealric's eyes followed their ascent.
"He moves openly now," Arabella murmured.
"Yes," Kealric replied quietly. "And that means he no longer fears consequence."
Arabella's eyes remained fixed on the sky where the dragon had vanished.
"He awakened Giantica—Azreal Regathor's dragon. That means he is far more powerful than we assumed."
Kealric's gaze hardened, his expression darkening as the weight of that truth settled between them.
His fists tightened as he gritted his teeth, heat flaring beneath his skin. A faint crimson glow flickered across his face, like embers struggling to break free.
Thalira Alvarez belonged to him.
He had come to Ashkaroth for her.
That beast had no right to claim what he had not sown.
Thalira was still the Queen of Morazona—Prince Kealric's destined queen.
The thought made his fists clench even tighter, his knuckles turning white as red veins spread sharply beneath his skin, pulsing with restrained fury.
Arabella stepped back instinctively, sensing the dangerous shift in his aura.
"You cannot confront him now," she warned carefully. "Not after what we just witnessed."
Kealric exhaled slowly, forcing the flames beneath his skin to subside. The red glow dimmed, but the anger remained — cold now, sharpened.
His eyes lifted to the storm-churned sky.
"I cannot rush into a battle I cannot win. Not yet," Kealric said quietly. "I will not confront him now—he is not my true target."
His voice lowered, turning colder.
"I must find a way to restore her memories. Only then will I have the right to fight for her. Once her memories return… Ashkaroth will witness a war far greater than the last."
He spoke the words without raising his tone, yet the ruthlessness behind them was enough to send a chill through the surrounding woods.
Even the wind seemed to hesitate, as if unwilling to disturb the weight of his vow.
Arabella studied him in silence.
The flames that had threatened to erupt from him moments ago were gone, buried beneath strategy and restraint.
That, more than his anger, unsettled her.
"And if her memories do not return?" she asked carefully. Kealric's jaw tightened.
"They will," he replied without hesitation.
Above the vast Ashkaroth Ocean, storm clouds gathered unnaturally fast. Silver lightning flickered within them — not striking, only watching.
Giantica cut through the sky like a living comet, her red-speckled scales catching flashes of light.
Duncan remained silent.
But something was wrong.
A faint tremor ran through his body.
A thin line of blood slipped again from the corner of his mouth before he wiped it away impatiently.
The cost.
The dragon's favor had not been free.
Giantica's voice echoed in his mind rather than the air.
"The Silver Stone strains within you. You force power that was not meant to be wielded without balance."
"I don't need balance," Duncan replied coldly.
"You will," the dragon answered.
Duncan's jaw tightened, but he did not respond.
Below them, the lands of Ashkaroth stretched in darkened silence — forests like black veins, rivers glinting faintly beneath lightning-lit skies.
The storm seemed to follow them, drawn to Giantica's wake. Another tremor shook him.
This time he did not fully conceal it.
Thalira stirred faintly in his arms, her brows knitting together as though she sensed the instability within him. A soft breath escaped her lips — fragile, unaware.
"The name of Azreal Regathor will not remain silent if his dragon flies under another's command," Giantica said, her voice low and resonant, vibrating through the air.
At that name, Duncan's eyes sharpened.
"Azreal Regathor is dead," he replied coolly.
"Legacies do not die so easily, Mr prince" Giantica countered, her crimson eyes flashing with fire.
Duncan remained silent, his silver eyes fixed on the woman in his arms. For the first time since the chaos of the clearing, his expression softened.
Slowly, deliberately, he lifted a hand and brushed his fingers over the bruises along her face and neck.
A faint, ethereal blue flame flickered to life in his palm, cold yet luminous, wrapping her wounds in a gentle, healing light.
The skin knit itself, discoloration fading, cuts sealing almost instantly. Even the blood on her lips vanished, leaving only a faint flush from the trauma.
Duncan's other hand hovered over his own wounds.
The same blue fire ignited, licking across his skin as bruises and scratches vanished as though they had never existed.
He exhaled slowly, the storm outside echoing the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
For a fleeting moment, the ruthless prince, the predator of Ashkaroth, was replaced by someone fiercely protective.
Someone who would not allow harm to touch what was his.
Thalira stirred slightly in his arms, a faint sigh escaping her lips, and Duncan's eyes softened even further.
"Little moon," he murmured under his breath, the words almost lost beneath the wind and distant thunder.
The blue flames flickered once more, then dimmed, leaving only the quiet warmth of restored life.
"Where are we heading, arrogant demon?" Giantica's voice rumbled through the stormy sky.
Duncan's eyes never left Thalira in his arms. A faint smirk played on his lips.
"Saltarian Jungle," he replied coldly, his voice calm but edged with steel. "Far from here, far from eyes that would dare touch her again."
"Saltarian Jungle… dangerous, unforgiving, and wild. Are you certain you wish to take her there?"Giantica's crimson eyes narrowed, smoke curling from her nostrils.
"I am certain, It is the only place where she can heal… and where no one can reach her—not yet." Duncan said, his grip on Thalira firm but gentle
The dragon exhaled slowly, a plume of smoke mixing with the storm clouds above.
Without another word, she beat her massive wings, propelling them forward, racing toward the distant, shadowed expanse of the Saltarian Jungle.
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«AVIALYN—CLAN,
THE CRIMSON—EMPIRE»
The council chamber was darker than usual.
Heavy crimson drapes had been drawn across the high arched windows, muting the morning light.
The flames from the towering dinosaur statues burned lower, their reflections flickering across the polished obsidian floor like restless spirits.
The prime ministers were already seated when Lord Veydrath entered.
No one spoke.
The black smoke beneath his hat coiled thicker than before, trailing behind him like a living shadow.
He did not sit immediately.
Instead, he placed both gloved hands on the head of the long table.
"Make the Eclipse kill the Moon' — that was Iskaria's last message. Duncan Tharagon is the Eclipse, and that girl, Thailra Alvarez, is the Moon. The reason I have called this meeting is to devise a strategy — to determine how we can make the Eclipse destroy his own Moon," Lord Veydrath muttere.
His cold voice sending chills throughout the chamber as his eyes swept across the ministers before him.
They nodded in solemn agreement, fully aligned with his words.
Lord Veydrath straightened slowly, his gloved fingers tapping once against the obsidian table.
"We must find the girl. Only then will the Beast bow, and only then will our plan to have him destroy his Moon succeed," he muttered, his voice deep and resonant.
The black smoke suddenly expanded, curling along the ceiling like a living predator.
The chamber remained silent after Lord Veydrath's words settled heavily in the air.
Members of the Avialyn Clan and the Crimson Empire exchanged slow, knowing glances, their expressions hidden beneath shadows cast by the dim crimson flames.
The plan was clear.
The execution was not.
"Finding her will not be easy," one of the ministers said cautiously. "The girl is guarded by Duncan Tharagon himself."
At the mention of the name, the black smoke trailing behind Lord Veydrath trembled faintly, as if reacting to the weight of the power it represented.
"Then we draw her out," Veydrath replied coldly, his gloved fingers tightened slightly on the table edge.
"Love is the weakness of kings," he continued. "And the Moon—Thailra Alvarez—is bound to the Eclipse."
Another minister spoke. "But the Beast will not allow her to wander freely."Veydrath's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile.
"That is why we will not attack the Beast directly." The smoke above him coiled tighter, descending slightly like a listening creature.
"We will poison the path she walks." He turned his gaze slowly across the chamber.
The dinosaur-shaped flame statues along the wall flickered violently as if approving the strategy.
"Duncan Tharagon does not appear to be in love with his Moon. The two have not truly fallen in love with each other. If we poison her path, I do not believe the plan of making Duncan kill her will succeed," one of the ministers said.
Lord Veydrath's gloved fingers tapped once against the obsidian table.
"You misunderstand the nature of the bond, the Moon and the Eclipse are not required to be in love," he continued.
"The bond itself is older than emotion, what matters is possession."
One of the older ministers frowned. "But if there is no emotional attachment—"
"There is attachment," Veydrath interrupted quietly. "Whether they admit it or not."
He turned slightly, his dark gaze scanning the room, the smoke above him expanded slowly, like a breathing creature.
"We will poison her thoughts and sow misunderstanding between her and the Eclipse," Lord Veydrath muttered, a dark smile curling at his lips.
"We will make her doubt him, believe falsehoods, and fracture the bond between them. We will make her carry another man's child"
The prime ministers listened in silence, some slowly stroking their beards as they considered the strategy.
"When the Beast loses control," Veydrath continued, voice low and calculated, "chaos will follow. And in that chaos, the Eclipse may be driven to turn against his own Moon, Duncan Tharagon will end up killing his moon"
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«ALBATON—PALACE»
The grand doors of the palace swung open, unveiling three mounted figures.
Seated upon their horses were the three princesses of Albaton Palace, each clad in finely wrought armor.
Only their eyes and the bridge of their noses were visible beneath their helms.
They guided their steeds forward with steady hands upon the reins, and as they entered, the guards lining the gateway bowed deeply in solemn respect.
The princess astride the black horse dismounted with measured grace.
Lifting her helm with both hands, she freed a cascade of dark hair that fell smoothly over her shoulders.
She brushed it back with composed elegance, securing the helm beneath her arm as her gaze swept across the palace grounds.
The breeze stirring gently through her loosened strands.
Princess Helena—Dravelle of Albaton.
Born of a mother who had been but a concubine, she and her sisters were denied the privilege of bearing their late father's royal name.
Though acknowledged as princesses, they stood forever at the margins of the throne.
They had returned upon hearing grave rumors—that their father was dead and that Duncan had been released from his dungeon.
They had not come for mourning nor ceremony, but for certainty. They had come to see the truth for themselves.
The princess upon the white horse descended with effortless grace.
As she lifted her helm, a cascade of vivid orange curls tumbled over her shoulders in charming disarray—the ribbon that had once bound them at the nape had given way, leaving her hair delightfully untamed.
She swept the loosened strands back with a light touch, her lips curving into a radiant smile as her eyes roamed across the palace grounds.
Princess Cassandra—Dravelle of Albaton, the youngest of the three sisters, while Princess Helena stood as the eldest.
A soft, musical giggle escaped her as a cool breeze stirred her curls.
Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath, savoring the crisp air with quiet contentment.
The princess upon the brown horse dismounted in composed silence.
As she removed her helm, her long ponytail sprang free, settling neatly along her back.
Her expression remained unreadable as her keen eyes surveyed the palace grounds.
Princess Aurelia—Dravelle of Albaton.
Standing still, she observed the courtyard with quiet scrutiny. The palace had changed—subtly, yet unmistakably.
And the rumors were true, their long-imprisoned brother had indeed escaped his dungeon.
There was something in the air—heavy, metallic, unsettling. It carried a faint scent that reminded her of his former chamber.
Her teeth clenched as her eyes swept over the maids and guards moving about their duties.
The king had died in the war between Albaton and Varokron. Even Varokron himself, who had fought fiercely, is dead too.
The question lingered: who had truly killed whom?
Varokron's soldiers could not have take him down so easily—she knew the king's strength and power well.
It was on the very day of that war that Duncan had been released from his chamber. And, as she had heard, on that same day, his moon had appeared.
Could it be that Duncan had taken his revenge and killed them both?
She had returned now, and the truth would be laid bare.
And if it turned out that this was indeed what had happened, then that demon of a brother of hers would finally get a taste of her own wrath.
"Heard about Giantica?" Cassandra asked, blinking rapidly as her eyes darted between her sisters.
"Lord Azreal Regathor's dragon appeared at the market today. Ashkaroth is getting… interesting, isn't it?"
"Interesting… or dangerous. Do not forget why we are here, Cassandra," Helena muttered, her voice sharp as she began to move.
"Tales of dragons and markets mean nothing compared to what awaits inside these walls. Our brother is free from his dungeon, and what you should be concerned about is surviving Ashkaroth, not chasing fantasies. Don't be so childish."
Cassandra pouted, her gaze flicking toward Aurelia for support, only to be met with a cold, unwavering glare.
The look was enough to make her flinch, and she quickly lowered her eyes.
"If you care so much about dragons, why not go to the Avialyn Clan and get one yourself?" Aurelia's voice was sharp, cold as ice, her piercing blue eyes fixed unwaveringly on Cassandra.
"Father is dead. The next in line to rule Ashkaroth is dead. The dungeon is empty. And here you are, worrying about dragons? And where on earth did you hear that the great Giantica has appeared? You and your baseless rumors… If you're so obsessed with dragons, you know where to find one. Your childishness is getting out of control, Cassandra. Consider this a warning—do not interfere with my plans. Am I clear?"
Tears welled in Cassandra's eyes, and she nodded repeatedly, pouting, stifling her hurt and frustration.
Aurelia rolled her eyes and followed Helena, brushing past Cassandra with a careless shove of her shoulder, causing the younger sister to stagger slightly.
Aurelia did not look back.
Cassandra trailed behind them slowly, keeping her distance. Not far off, Melissa and Sylara stood watching the sisters with quiet interest.
The guards began leading the horses toward the royal stables.
Melissa's lips curved into a sly smirk as her gaze lingered on the princesses, her eyes sharp and calculating.
They've changed, but the youngest never does.
It seems they've returned for something far more intriguing. They are against their brother—and that could make her plans even more interesting.
Perhaps if she can draw them closer, bend them to her side, everything will fall into place. The thought made Melissa's smirk deepen, curling into something sharp and cunning.
Her eyes followed Cassandra's hesitant steps.
"Don't forget your mission." Melissa turned to Sylara, who nodded repeatedly without hesitation.
Melissa's smirk widened, and she began to walk away.
Sylara lingered a moment longer, her gaze fixed on Cassandra's back, committing the sight to memory, before finally following Melissa out of the courtyard.
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«LADY SEMINA—CHAMBER»
The chamber was quiet, the soft glow of candlelight flickering across rich tapestries and polished wooden floors.
Lady Semina Dravelle of Albaton sat at a carved mahogany desk, her fingers tracing the intricate patterns etched into its surface.
The weight of the palace's news had reached her ears—her daughters had returned.
"They'll be on their way already," Semina thought, hearing the faint echo of footsteps in the hall. Her lips curved into a knowing smile.
"My lady, your daughters are here," her personal maid said softly from behind the door.
Semina's smile widened, a mixture of pride and apprehension warming her features.
"Let them in," she said, her voice calm yet filled with quiet authority.
The door creaked open, and one by one,
Helena, Aurelia, and Cassandra entered the chamber, their armor clinking lightly with each step.
Cassandra, unable to contain herself, rushed forward and threw her arms around her mother, burying her face in Semina's chest as tears streamed freely.
Helena and Aurelia exchanged an exasperated glance, rolling their eyes at their youngest sister's display.
Always so dramatic… they thought silently.
Cassandra's propensity for crying had earned her the teasing nickname of crybaby long ago, and it seemed some things never changed.
"Mum, I missed you! It's been six months already. I hope they've been treating you well… you're not hurt, are you?" Cassandra pouted.
Semina chuckled softly and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, making Cassandra pout even cuter as she sniffled.
"I'm fine, dearest," Semina reassured her. "How was the journey?"
Helena and Aurelia approached more calmly, stepping into her mother's embrace one after the other.
They hugged her lightly, their armored forms pressing briefly against her warmth.
Semina smiled, embracing them in return.
Semina pulled back slightly, her hands resting gently on her daughters' shoulders.
Her gaze swept over Helena, Aurelia, and finally Cassandra, lingering on the youngest, whose eyes still glistened with tears.
"Enough crying, my little one," Semina said softly, though a faint smile tugged at her lips.
"I missed you so much, Mum. We heard our brother escaped from his dungeon, and we also heard that Lord Azreal Regathor's dragon appear…" Cassandra's voice trailed off.
Her eyes fell on her sisters, who shot her maddening glares. She bit her lip nervously and lowered her gaze.
"Giantica… Azreal's dragon… did what?" Semina asked, shifting her attention from Cassandra to Helena and Aurelia, seeking an explanation.
"Nothing, Mum," Helena replied sharply. "You know how Cassandra is—like a radio without batteries. Baseless rumors, nothing more."
Aurelia stepped forward, placing her palms gently on her mother's shoulders and pouting slightly.
"Well, Mum… I'm very hungry. I hope you've prepared something for us."
Semina's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile as she looked at her daughters.
"Very well," she said, her voice calm but firm. "Sit, and we will eat. But remember, tales and rumors can grow teeth before you even notice. Do not let your hearts be swayed by whispers."
Cassandra nodded quickly, still glancing nervously at her sisters, while Aurelia and Helena eased themselves into chairs, their expressions composed yet alert.
Semina left the room to prepare the food, leaving the sisters alone.
Aurelia rose from her seat, her eyes narrowing as she strode toward Cassandra. Her hand lifted, poised to strike, but Helena's sharp voice stopped her mid-motion.
"Drop it, sis. You can't create a scene here, mum is around" Helena warned, her tone low but commanding.
Cassandra's eyes snapped shut, her fists clenching tightly in her lap. She pressed her lips together, bracing herself against the anger radiating from her sister.
Aurelia's hand hovered for a moment longer before slowly lowering it, a flicker of irritation crossing her features.
Helena's gaze softened just enough to hold Aurelia in check, while Cassandra remained tense, her small frame trembling slightly with suppressed fear.
Aurelia huffed.
"You listen to me," Aurelia muttered coldly, returning to her seat and crossing her arms and legs.
"Talking about some silly dragons is not why we came back. You know why we're here—our mission in this palace is clear. If you dare speak of dragons in front of me again, I promise you'll regret ever having me as your sister. Whisper that name in my presence again, and I won't hesitate to cut out your tongue."
Cassandra sniffled, wiping away the tears that had fallen, her gaze fixed on her fidgeting hands.
Helena sighed and tossed a napkin toward her, but Cassandra didn't move to take it.
"You're really going to let Mum see those tears, huh?" Helena snapped, rolling her eyes.
She grabbed the napkin herself and roughly wiped Cassandra's cheeks, her movements sharp yet efficient.
Cassandra's lips trembled as the last trace of tears vanished.
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«MORAZANA—ALSATAN VILLAGE—GALVESTON PALACE»
"You mean to tell me that Kealric has left this palace, and not a single soul thought it necessary to inform me? Not the queen, not anyone!—and you dare to tell me to calm down?!" King Leonthius's roar reverberated through the throne room.
His figure rising from the throne with a fury that made the tapestries flutter.
Before him stood Lady Evelyne and Queen Seraphina, their heads bowed and their eyes fixed upon the marble floor.
Lady Evelyne was dressed in her witch's attire, clutching a staff crowned with a glowing orb of magic.
Her face was heavily adorned with dark makeup, and a shadowy aura curled ominously around her.
The weight of his wrath pressed down on them, silent yet absolute, leaving no room for excuse or hesitation.
King Leonthius's gaze swept over the two women like a storm ready to break.
His fists clenched upon the carved arms of the throne, knuckles whitening, and every inch of the room seemed to shrink under the force of his anger.
"Do you realize what this means?" he thundered, voice echoing against the vaulted ceilings.
"Our heir leaves without notice, wandering into lands teeming with enemies, and you—both of you—stand here as if nothing has happened?"
"Your Highness, I understand that Ashkaroth is a land steeped in ancient power, but I must honor my son's wish to journey there. Thailra Alvarez is alive in Ashkaroth," Lady Evelyne said, her voice firm as she lifted her gaze.
Queen Seraphina remained silent, her head still bowed, slowly turning her eyes toward Evelyne.
King Leonthuis's eyes widened at the revelation.
"The late princess is alive? We witnessed her corpse burning! I was the one who lit the fire that consumed her, and Prince Kealric was the one who cast her ashes into the Mattaham River. And now you—standing here—boldly tell me she is alive in Ashkaroth? How is that possible, Evelyne!" King Leonthuis bellowed, his voice echoing through the hall.
Evelyne's lips curved into a faint, confident smile, unshaken by his fury.
"Your Highness," she began, her tone calm but unyielding, "what you witnessed was the destruction of her body, yes. But the soul—the essence of Thailra Alvarez—does not burn so easily. Ashkaroth is a land where forces older than Morazana itself govern life and death. There, her spirit was preserved, rebuilt, and restored."
"Restored? Rebuilt? You speak in riddles, Evelyne. This is impossible!" he thundered. Evelyne stepped closer, her movements measured and deliberate.
Queen Seraphina watched in silence, suspicion sharpening her gaze—of course Evelyne was planning some cunning game, but what exactly was she plotting?
"That girl holds the power of the Silver Stone, Your Highness. Remember her lineage—Azreal Regathor hailed from Tulsan, and her parents were the first to claim the Stone before Azreal seized it and destroyed it, fearful of the unimaginable power it contained. The Eclipse of Souls began in her village, Tulsan. That alone should tell you she cannot die so easily. Her ancestors would never allow her to perish like that"
"That is why her soul was returned to Ashkaroth, reformed into a new body. Her memories of Morazana were erased because we treated her cruelly. She died by a poisoned arrow from our own kingdom"
Evelyne's words struck like a blade.
King Leonthuis stood frozen, utterly speechless, his eyes wide as he stared at her.
Queen Seraphina's lips curved into a subtle, knowing smile. So this was Evelyne's intention—to invoke a war between Morazana and Ashkaroth. Such a dark, cunning witch.
King Leonthuis sank back into his chair, his eyes darting toward the two women.
He tapped his fingers on the armrest, his chest rising and falling with measured breaths.
"Your son will return to you safely, Your Highness," a voice said from behind them. "And we can help you obtain the silver stone that resides in Duncan's."
They both turned at once. Lady Evelyne's eyes widened.
Iskaria removed the black rope cap from her hair, letting her dark locks cascade over her shoulders. She gripped her staff firmly, her posture radiating quiet authority.
Beside her, Alaric held his staff with equal resolve, their eyes fixed steadily on the king seated upon the throne.
"Sister…" Lady Evelyne whispered, her voice soft yet filled with emotion.
Iskaria turned toward her, a smile curling at the edges of her lips.
"Longest time, twinne."
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