On Tuesday morning, in a café in Backlund's Hillston District.
After handing the manuscript she had finished overnight to her editor, Fors watched her leave and settled in to enjoy one of the café's new specialty desserts.
It was strange. She rarely went out, but she visited this café often to submit manuscripts, and its pastries had never been this good before.
Maybe they hired a new pastry chef? As her thoughts wandered, an elderly voice suddenly sounded beside her.
"So it's you, Ms. Fors..."
Fors quickly looked toward the voice. Mr. Lawrence of the Abraham Family had appeared in the café without her noticing, and he was looking at her with a complicated expression.
"Hello, Mr. Lawrence. I didn't expect to see you here..." Fors wiped her mouth with a handkerchief. Though wary inside, she greeted him politely.
I never expected the result of the last Astrology reading of my life to point to the woman who buried Anlisa... Could she be the Apprentice in the Prophecy?
As that thought crossed Lawrence's mind, he was about to return Fors's greeting when he suddenly began coughing violently, unable to stop.
Cough, cough, cough!
His legs gave way, and he collapsed into the seat beside Fors, coughing as though he might suffocate at any moment.
As a doctor who had graduated from a proper academy, Fors bent down without hesitation and began administering first aid.
A girl dressed in an androgynous style also hurried over from behind the café counter, apparently wanting to help.
But the café's owner quickly pulled her back, seemingly unwilling to let her get mixed up in the trouble. The old man was plainly in bad shape...
After a flurry of activity, Lawrence's condition finally stabilized. He wiped the saliva from the corners of his mouth and