Recently, Ravenna has been consistently startled awake by nightmares.
Ever since Ansel uttered those words, she has been perpetually restless.
Although that mischievous jerk eventually laughed it off as a mere jest, Ravenna couldn't shake the feeling that he was not truly jesting.
Even if it was just for a fleeting moment, whenever she caught a glimpse of Ansel's emotions, she could discern the secrets he was reluctant to voice.
Yet, this jerk, merely thirteen years of age, displayed a sophistication that left Ravenna at a loss; she could not detect any anomalies in his daily demeanor, nor dared she make any indirect inquiries—for she knew well that he would see right through them.
The diminutive scholarly prodigy glanced at the blond boy sleeping beside her, remained silent for a long while, and raised her hand as if to touch his hair. But just before her fingers could graze those soft golden strands, her hand paused, suspended in mid-air.