Isolde let out a slow, tired sigh. She pressed two fingers against her forehead and closed her eyes for a moment, as if trying to stave off a headache.
"You always do the strangest things," she muttered.
Lilith settled back into her chair with effortless grace, crossing one leg over the other. The white fabric of her dress pooled around her like moonlight, and she lifted her teacup with the poise of a queen who had just won a small, private war.
"That's because strange things are the most interesting," she said lightly. "And besides—" she took a slow sip, "—you enjoyed watching. Don't pretend you didn't."
Isolde's eye twitched. She opened her mouth to argue, then closed it again, because she knew Lilith was right.
Isolde turned her gaze toward Celine, who was still glaring at them with pure, undiluted hatred. She set her teacup down with a soft click and spoke in a calm, measured tone.
"You're my familiar now. So stop with the hostility. It will only make your suffering worse."
