The day-long snowfall had turned every rooftop visible beyond the window silver white. Only the last sliver of sunset remained on the horizon. The two ladies on the sofa each held a teacup, and even Miss Bell was absent for the moment.
"Actually, I'm very curious. What exactly do you think of Shade?"
Seizing the opening in the conversation, Flora finally voiced the question that had been on her mind for some time:
"Look at me—my relationship with Shade has advanced by leaps and bounds lately, and I haven't hidden my feelings. But Daniste, what are you thinking? I'm not joking this time. Your feelings for Shade aren't so simple either, are they?"
The red-haired girl turned to look out the window, her face filled with melancholy.
"This is immoral. I'm a professor at Saint Byron's."
The witch quietly reminded her:
"Morality? As I recall, under the apprenticeship system, even if you called him into your room tonight, people would only think the teacher was exercising her authority."
The red-haired girl pressed her lips together again.
"I've considered similar things recently. There are actually many people around Shade who care about him. He may not need me."
".Your body has merely turned into that of a young girl. That doesn't mean you have to talk like the protagonist of one of those disgusting teenage romance novels."
As an artist, Flora disliked those overly straightforward stories written to indulge the fantasies of adolescent girls.
"If you ask me, you simply haven't figured out your future yet. Will you remain eighteen forever, looking even younger than him? Or will you soon return to your original appearance and become that elegant, intellectual library administrator again?"
This time, the red-haired girl said nothing. She merely stared out the window. The room's light reflected her