Helos emerged from the workshop, her face smudged with dirt and dust.
Calling it a workshop was really just a euphemism for a dilapidated, crumbling warehouse on the west side of the Duke’s Mansion.
This long-neglected building was originally slated for demolition, but when little Helos had gripped the doorframe tightly, refusing to let go, those pale purple eyes flashing with stubborn determination shocked the servants—accustomed as they were to the delicate airs of noble young ladies.
In the end, with the Duke’s casual approval of “Let her be,” the decrepit structure was spared and partially repaired.
At least, there was no longer any fear it would suddenly collapse.
But from then on, the maids’ nightmares began.
Drawing on scattered bits of scientific knowledge from her past life, Helos busied herself with all sorts of unthinkable inventions in that shabby warehouse.
Gears, clockwork springs, and magic device parts scavenged from who knows where piled into small mountains on the cramped workbench.
When night fell silent, the clinking and banging sounds would echo from within, occasionally accompanied by a loud “boom”—usually signaling the birth of yet another one of her “masterpieces.”
Light.
Though most of her inventions smoked and sputtered black clouds and were promptly thrown away by the gardeners and maids as junk, Helos remained passionate and undeterred.
After all, in a world where everyone could wield magic, a useless girl who couldn’t even light a lamp had to find something to pass the long hours.
Helos looked down at her dust-covered skirt and sighed.
Like a kitten freshly squeezed from a chimney, she vigorously patted off the dirt clinging to her.
“If the Head Maid sees me like this, it’ll be trouble…”
She muttered softly, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve, only to smear the dust more evenly across her face.
The maids in the tea room often whispered that the Second Miss couldn’t even perform basic cleaning magic and was no better than some country bumpkin.
And every time Helos was caught in this state by the stern older woman who served as Head Maid, the sharp, scolding barks she let out were so fierce one might think she was heating a spirit lamp with another spirit lamp!
Laughter and chatter drifted from afar, and Helos instinctively ducked behind a tree.
“The Second Miss’s laboratory exploded again?”
“Sure did. The Head Maid’s got another headache coming.”
“Honestly, the Duke is way too indulgent with her…”
The voices of the maids gradually faded, and a self-mocking smile curled the girl’s lips.
If neglect counts as indulgence, then indeed, her Duke father was quite lenient with her.
She deftly pulled a crumpled handkerchief from her pocket—that same one a maid had secretly slipped to her last year during Eleanor’s birthday when she had sneaked into the kitchen to steal food.
She wiped at her face with it a few times, but the effect was no better than using her sleeve.
Helos shrugged in resignation. “No matter how much I wipe, a ‘witch’ will never turn into a ‘saint.’”
Kicking a small stone at her feet, she suddenly heard her stomach grumble loudly in protest.
Only then did she realize she had come out searching for food because she was hungry.
The warm, bright kitchen lights shone in the distance, carrying the scent of freshly baked bread.
Helos rubbed her empty belly—at this hour, the maids responsible for lunch should all be attending to guests in the main hall, making it a perfect chance to “borrow” some food.
She tiptoed to the kitchen’s back door and stealthily pressed her ear against it, listening for any movement inside.
Confirming that no one was around, she slipped inside with nimble grace, quietly closing the creaking wooden door behind her.
Warmth enveloped her as she entered, blending with the rich aromas of baked bread and simmering stew.
Her stomach rumbled again, and she hurriedly covered it with both hands, afraid the noise would attract unwanted attention.
“Let me see what tasty things are here today…”
She muttered to herself, scanning the countertop.
Suddenly, her eyes locked onto a plate of cookies in the corner of the counter—golden, glossy little treats neatly arranged on a porcelain dish rimmed with gold, sprinkled with finely chopped nuts.
Clearly, these were dessert treats prepared for the Duke and Miss Eleanor—an exquisite delicacy she had never tasted before.
Her fingertips unconsciously brushed the cool edge of the porcelain plate.
In her memory, she rarely dined with her family.
At the rare family meals, she was always seated at the farthest corner from the head of the table, served a plain dish completely different from everyone else’s.
The excuse was always to prevent her unique constitution from affecting the food’s magic—the Head Maid’s usual explanation.
Hmph—do they take me for a toddler?
“Hmph, they won’t even notice if one or two pieces go missing…”
Helos muttered, her fingers already stealthily pinching a cookie.
The crisp texture reminded her of Royal Danish cookies sold at convenience stores in her past life.
She brought the cookie close to her nose and inhaled deeply—the rich butter aroma mixed with a faint milky scent filling her nostrils.
Just as she was about to bite, the sudden clatter of porcelain behind her made her flinch, and the cookie broke cleanly in two.
“Rats again… huh? Why is this one filled with cream?!”
Frantically trying to piece the broken cookie back together, she discovered the creamy filling was sticky and smeared all over her fingers.
In desperation, she shoved the half cookie into her mouth—
The rich dairy flavor exploded on her tongue, making her squint with happiness.
The taste was far better than she had imagined, warm butter dancing between her lips and teeth, with nut fragments lingering in the air.
When she came back to her senses, she realized she had unknowingly eaten several more pieces.
“This is bad…”
Helos stared at the plate, now noticeably missing a chunk, suddenly aware of the severity of her situation.
Thinking quickly, she rearranged the remaining cookies to make the plate still look full—though the spaces between them grew subtly wider.
“Consider it a poison test for you all,”
she consoled herself, licking crumbs off her fingertips. “What if someone actually poisoned them? I’m risking my life here!”
Just as Helos grabbed a nearby loaf of bread to pack it all up, a somewhat familiar voice suddenly came from behind her.
“What are you doing?”
Her fingers froze mid-air, the buttered bread nearly slipping from her grasp.
The girl slowly turned around and met the eyes of a black-haired boy standing in the kitchen doorway.
Julius stood there, backlit by sunlight pouring in, holding a heavy tome in one hand, the other still raised as if to close the door.
His shadow stretched long across the kitchen tiles, falling right at Helos’s feet.
His eyes widened slightly, clearly reflecting the sight before him: a dust-smudged girl with cookie crumbs clinging to the corner of her mouth and suspiciously bulging pockets, like a little mouse caught red-handed stealing oil.
He had simply been passing by the kitchen when the sound of clinking porcelain caught his attention, and out of duty had come to investigate.
Who could have expected to find the Duke’s own daughter tiptoeing around, stealing sweets?