Saint Eustacia froze mid-motion. A fleeting, almost imperceptible trace of disappointment crossed her face, but she said nothing more. She simply raised her free hand, fingertips glowing faintly white, and drew a gentle arc through the air.
The cake was sliced cleanly in two by a curve of light, the cut so perfect it gleamed like a mirror.
She placed one half on a small plate, then pushed the remaining half toward the center of the table. Only then did she take her own portion and leave the room—her steps appearing steady, yet noticeably quicker than when she had entered.
A brief silence settled over the room. Seraphina stared blankly at the door, her thoughts in disarray.
“The water’s getting cold,” Decaroline said gently, pulling her back to the present.
Only then did Seraphina realize she hadn’t taken a single sip. She instinctively brought the cup to her lips. The warm liquid slid down her parched throat, easing some of the discomfort.
Decaroline somehow produced a small table from nearby and placed it in front of Seraphina, setting it atop the bed.
She placed the half cake—still on its little plate—onto the table, turning the intact side toward Seraphina, and added a small spoon.
Gazing at the delicate confection that looked like a work of art, Seraphina felt a strange reluctance to disturb it.
Maybe starting from the cut side would feel better.
With that thought, she reached out and gently rotated the plate.
But the expected smooth cut surface wasn’t there. Instead… it was another perfectly whole side!
Seraphina blinked. Some of the numbness and exhaustion in her eyes gave way to surprise and confusion. She lifted her gaze to Decaroline.
The woman wore a serene, mysterious smile. She reached out, her movement so light it seemed to brush only air.
Somehow, she “pulled” the missing half cake from behind Seraphina’s ear and placed it on the small table as well.
Before Seraphina could react, Decaroline snapped her fingers. With a deft twist of her wrist, she lifted the plate that had held only half a cake moments ago.
Like a magician’s flourish, a complete cake now sat on the plate once more.
“Eh?!” Seraphina couldn’t help but whisper, her voice still hoarse but tinged with curiosity. “Where… where did that half go?”
Decaroline didn’t answer directly. Instead, she picked up a pale pink bud from the larger table nearby. Its petals blended almost perfectly with the cake’s frosting.
“Don’t you think this color is so gentle?” Decaroline murmured softly. Her warm gaze brushed over Seraphina’s slightly disheveled yet still softly apricot-glowing hair.
She leaned down and carefully tucked the pale pink flower behind Seraphina’s ear, mindful of the scrapes on her forehead and cheek.
“There. It looks lovely.”
She studied her work closely, as if admiring a beautiful portrait, pleasure shining in her eyes at the harmonious beauty.
“This pale pink softens strong contrasts. Honestly, I don’t feel like I’m looking at… the powerful Regent anymore. More like… an endearing young girl who inspires tenderness.”
Seraphina blinked uncomfortably. This gentle, pressure-free care felt like sunlight melting snow, gradually loosening the knots in her heart without her realizing.
“Now,” Decaroline said, stepping back half a pace. “Try taking the flower off.”
Following the suggestion, Seraphina—curiosity now sparked—reached toward the pale pink bloom at her temple. She expected to feel cool, damp petals and stem.
Instead, her fingertips met something cool and smooth.
She paused, then carefully brought the “flower” in front of her eyes. Sure enough, resting quietly in her palm was no flower at all.
It was the small plate holding half a pink cake!
The sight left Seraphina stunned for a long while. Her eyes widened as she looked up into Decaroline’s.
Decaroline met her astonished gaze with a smile and finally confessed. “All right, I won’t tease you anymore. There isn’t any more cake—just these two and a half pieces. One for each of us, and this extra half…”
She pushed the newly “conjured” half toward Seraphina. “Is for you too. Go ahead and taste my handiwork.”
Seraphina stared at the cake before her, momentarily at a loss. After the icy brink of death, she had suddenly been enveloped in this warm care.
It all felt a little unreal.
She didn’t feel particularly happy or eager. The dual wounds to body and soul left her reactions dulled to everything around her.
She looked up at Decaroline again, confusion in her voice. “If… there was more, why did you only let Saint Eustacia take half earlier?”
Such “rationing” seemed completely unnecessary to her.
“Hm?” Decaroline didn’t mind what Saint Eustacia might grumble about behind her back—it was all to help Seraphina recover normally sooner.
So she revealed the amusing truth.
“You don’t know this, but the sweets she secretly hoards in her room outnumber the books in my study! If I don’t keep her in check, the bishops will have headaches.”
The gossipy explanation instantly painted a vivid picture in Seraphina’s mind: the lofty, ice-pure Saint sneaking treats in private.
“But…” Seraphina murmured, almost to herself as she gazed at her one-and-a-half pieces. “If I eat this much… I won’t… get fat, right?”
The moment the question left her lips, Seraphina felt it was childish and absurd.
This instinctive girlish worry about her figure had surfaced without warning!
Decaroline laughed softly at the question. She leaned forward, carefully studying Seraphina’s pale yet refined face and the slender outline still visible beneath the covers.
“There, there. That’s not something you need to worry about right now. You just escaped Death’s grasp—you should be thinking about recovering quickly, not these little things.”
“Besides, thinking burns energy too. Once you’re better, there’ll be plenty that requires your mind. For now, treat these as ‘fuel’ you’re storing up in advance!”
The words deftly dissolved the faint worry that had risen in Seraphina.
In the end, the sweet flavor melted on her tongue. She ate in small bites. Though her appetite was still low, she no longer resisted.
Decaroline sat on the edge of the bed, head lowered to the book she hadn’t finished. After a while, she excused herself and left.
When Seraphina unknowingly finished her own cake, she noticed Decaroline’s remained untouched.
Beneath it, however, was a slip of paper:
“The remaining piece is yours too.”
Far away at the temporary residence on the human-demon border, Movira suddenly stood from her soft chair as if sensing something…
“Hiss…”