and ordinarily, women take pleasure in attracting attention from men.
Hmm…
Echo folded her arms and tried to imagine it: Herself, at a soiree, dressed in a sophisticated gown that practically reeked of pheromones. An endless stream of gentlemen called to her, and she met them coldly, managed them, appraised them.
Only one fortunate gentleman would make it through this strict selection and win the right to be her partner.
For example:
“Hello, Eko-chan. You’re particularly enchanting this evening.”
“—!!”
Startled by Oz’s surprise appearance at her imaginary soiree, Echo choked and lost her balance.
She nearly toppled right off the roof, but at the last minute, she somehow managed to catch herself. She’d made quite a clatter, and she wondered uneasily whether they’d heard her inside the antique store. When, however, she’d waited a little while and no one had come out, she gave a small sigh of relief.
At the same time, she began to feel irritated.
Wh-wh-why did Oz-sama show up there? Echo doesn’t really…
As Echo thought this, her cheeks went red.
She shook her head, chasing away Oz—who had obstinately taken up residence in her brain and was wearing a truly first-class smile—and turned her attention back to the boutique.
It hadn’t been very long since Dahlia had gone in. Echo didn’t care that much about her own appearance, but she did know that women took time to choose clothes. Echo didn’t mind waiting. She settled down on the roof of the antique store, made herself unnoticeable, held very still, and waited.
An hour passed. Still, Dahlia showed no sign of leaving the shop.
Is she still picking out clothes? …Wishy-washy…
Echo thought, a little disgusted.
It wouldn’t hurt to make sure. She climbed down to the street. A new customer—a lady with excellent timing—was just about to enter the shop, so Echo strolled past, pretending to be a passerby, and shot a quick glance inside through the open door.
As far as she could see, the only person there was the shop attendant. Echo’s heart skipped a beat.
She’s gone?
But in the next instant, Dahlia surfaced from the recesses of the shop. Hastily putting some distance between herself and the boutique, Echo slipped into a nearby shadow and hid.
Dahlia’s cheeks were faintly flushed. Maybe she was happy over a bargain she’d found. She passed Echo without noticing her and walked away, down the street. …Just as Dahlia passed, Echo caught an odd scent drifting from her.
It was very faint…and yet…
That’s… But…
It was a scent Echo was used to, but the circumstances made it hard to identify.
The smell of…blood—?
Nothing about Dahlia’s day after she returned to the mansion was particularly unusual.
Once she’d confirmed that Dahlia had gone to bed, Echo returned to the Nightray manor.
When Echo entered the drawing room, Vincent was lying on the sofa, gazing absently up at the ceiling.
He might not have been thinking about anything at all. It was just as likely that he was plotting something nefarious.
Echo was in Vincent’s service, but she didn’t understand her master’s inner workings. —Somewhere, hidden deep down, was the feeling that she was afraid to understand.
“Echo has returned, Vincent-sama,” she called.
Her back was to the door; she’d closed it behind her without turning. At her voice, Vincent’s face turned toward her.
“Welcome back, Echo. Come here…”
He beckoned, and Echo crossed to the sofa. Then Echo noticed the small, charmingly wrapped box on the table in front of the sofa. As if he’d registered Echo’s gaze, Vincent said, “It’s from her,” in a cold voice. “Homemade cookies and biscuits, apparently…”
At the word “her,” the face of the Vessalius woman Vincent had been seeing lately appeared in Echo’s mind. Ada Vessalius.
Echo knew Ada was Oz’s little sister. She also knew Vincent certainly wasn’t seeing her because he liked her.
“Just
Hmm…
Echo folded her arms and tried to imagine it: Herself, at a soiree, dressed in a sophisticated gown that practically reeked of pheromones. An endless stream of gentlemen called to her, and she met them coldly, managed them, appraised them.
Only one fortunate gentleman would make it through this strict selection and win the right to be her partner.
For example:
“Hello, Eko-chan. You’re particularly enchanting this evening.”
“—!!”
Startled by Oz’s surprise appearance at her imaginary soiree, Echo choked and lost her balance.
She nearly toppled right off the roof, but at the last minute, she somehow managed to catch herself. She’d made quite a clatter, and she wondered uneasily whether they’d heard her inside the antique store. When, however, she’d waited a little while and no one had come out, she gave a small sigh of relief.
At the same time, she began to feel irritated.
Wh-wh-why did Oz-sama show up there? Echo doesn’t really…
As Echo thought this, her cheeks went red.
She shook her head, chasing away Oz—who had obstinately taken up residence in her brain and was wearing a truly first-class smile—and turned her attention back to the boutique.
It hadn’t been very long since Dahlia had gone in. Echo didn’t care that much about her own appearance, but she did know that women took time to choose clothes. Echo didn’t mind waiting. She settled down on the roof of the antique store, made herself unnoticeable, held very still, and waited.
An hour passed. Still, Dahlia showed no sign of leaving the shop.
Is she still picking out clothes? …Wishy-washy…
Echo thought, a little disgusted.
It wouldn’t hurt to make sure. She climbed down to the street. A new customer—a lady with excellent timing—was just about to enter the shop, so Echo strolled past, pretending to be a passerby, and shot a quick glance inside through the open door.
As far as she could see, the only person there was the shop attendant. Echo’s heart skipped a beat.
She’s gone?
But in the next instant, Dahlia surfaced from the recesses of the shop. Hastily putting some distance between herself and the boutique, Echo slipped into a nearby shadow and hid.
Dahlia’s cheeks were faintly flushed. Maybe she was happy over a bargain she’d found. She passed Echo without noticing her and walked away, down the street. …Just as Dahlia passed, Echo caught an odd scent drifting from her.
It was very faint…and yet…
That’s… But…
It was a scent Echo was used to, but the circumstances made it hard to identify.
The smell of…blood—?
Nothing about Dahlia’s day after she returned to the mansion was particularly unusual.
Once she’d confirmed that Dahlia had gone to bed, Echo returned to the Nightray manor.
When Echo entered the drawing room, Vincent was lying on the sofa, gazing absently up at the ceiling.
He might not have been thinking about anything at all. It was just as likely that he was plotting something nefarious.
Echo was in Vincent’s service, but she didn’t understand her master’s inner workings. —Somewhere, hidden deep down, was the feeling that she was afraid to understand.
“Echo has returned, Vincent-sama,” she called.
Her back was to the door; she’d closed it behind her without turning. At her voice, Vincent’s face turned toward her.
“Welcome back, Echo. Come here…”
He beckoned, and Echo crossed to the sofa. Then Echo noticed the small, charmingly wrapped box on the table in front of the sofa. As if he’d registered Echo’s gaze, Vincent said, “It’s from her,” in a cold voice. “Homemade cookies and biscuits, apparently…”
At the word “her,” the face of the Vessalius woman Vincent had been seeing lately appeared in Echo’s mind. Ada Vessalius.
Echo knew Ada was Oz’s little sister. She also knew Vincent certainly wasn’t seeing her because he liked her.
“Just
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