The boy, grimacing, raised his upper body and growled.

His gray eyes gleamed sharply.

A strange scent mixed with the smell of blood emanated from him.

In that moment, I knew immediately.

That boy wasn’t an ordinary human.

“You… you’re a wolf, aren’t you?”

Ann had once told me that shapeshifters could recognize each other by scent.

At the time, I’d brushed it off, but now that I was experiencing it, I could tell for sure.

Dull gray hair and thick eyebrows.

Light gray eyes filled with suspicion.

Firm teeth visible through lips crusted with dried blood.

A strong, wild, and dangerous scent.

The boy clutched his wounded side, jumped to his feet, and ran off before I could stop him.

All that remained in his place were bloodstains and the lingering scent of a young wolf in the air.

I stared at the spot for a while before turning back, feeling dazed.

The palms of my hands stung from where they’d been scraped when I fell.

***

“Rory.”

After walking a bit more, I spotted a head of shiny silver hair.

Rory was standing in front of the large tree in the middle of the village.

“What are you doing here?”

“Mel, look at this. There are flower buds on the tree.”

“Huh? Oh, you’re right.”

Raising my head, I saw small white flower buds peeking out between the fresh green leaves, just as Rory had said.

Ann had told me about this.

When the flowers bloom and fall, fruits will form, and fairies are born inside those fruits.

I knew from Sprout’s monologue in the novel that fairies were born differently, but I hadn’t known they came from trees. Seeing it in person was fascinating.

Rory stroked the tree trunk and asked.

“When the fairies are born, do you think we can help raise them together?”

“Rory, do you want to help with raising them?”

As I took a step closer to him, he nodded shyly with a small smile.

“Yes. What do you think fairy babies will look like? Will they be as small and cute as you were when we first met?”

“Of course. They’ll be even cuter. We’re still too young to help raise them, but we can ask Brussel. We can watch the babies on the days he takes care of them.”

When I smiled and patted his head, Rory tilted his head curiously and blinked.

He picked up a strand of my hair that draped over my back, sniffed it, and leaned in closer to take a deep breath.

“Rory?”

“Where have you been?”

“I was just out for a walk. Why?”

“You smell… a little different.”

As he spoke, his breath brushed against my shoulder.

Before I knew it, his nose was pressed against my neck.

I laughed at the ticklish sensation and gently pushed him back.

“Rory, what smell are you talking about?”

“I don’t know.”

Rory furrowed his pretty eyebrows and mumbled.

I thought back to my encounter with the wolf shapeshifter.

“You’ve got the nose of a dog, Rory.”

“What?”

Had the scent somehow clung to me?

I hadn’t expected Rory, a human, to pick up on the wolf’s scent.

However, Rory couldn’t recognize the boy’s identity as I did.

He simply noticed a slight difference and was left puzzled.

I shrugged and held out my hand to Rory.

“It’s nothing. Let’s go inside. Ann is baking bread to make sandwiches.”

“Yes.”

Rory took my hand.

The once soft and tender hands of the child had developed firm calluses.

His straight posture, proper stance, and noticeably taller figure.

He had grown stronger and could handle a sword as if it were part of his body.

Rory was growing up steadily and well.

Though all I had done was cheer him on, I still felt proud.

“But Rory, are you sure you don’t remember anything?”

“I don’t.”

It’s unsettling that he hasn’t regained his memories yet, but…

In the original story, Rory only returned to the Duke’s family at the age of 19.

Even if he spends more time with me without his memories, it shouldn’t be an issue.

<The Devil Smells of Cinnamon, page 127.>

Eight-year-old Rory, who had regained his memories, was in an underground prison buried deep in the earth.

<Rory felt as though he had been thrown into a world of endless night, all alone.>

“Save me. Save me. It’s so cold and dark here. Please send me back home.”

<He was hungry, his bruised body ached, but ironically, the greatest suffering was loneliness.>

My nose stung, and I tilted my head upward.

The pink eyes that met mine curved gently into a smile.

The faint dimples on his cheeks, his silver hair fluttering in the breeze—they were so endearing that I couldn’t help but want to hold him.

“Rory, are you happy now?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“A lot. It feels like the whole world is looking at me with warm eyes.”

His immediate and confident reply made me smile. I stood on tiptoe and patted his head out of habit.

He bent down slightly to make it easier for my hand to reach him.

His soft hair, like the fur of a puppy, wrapped around my fingers.

“Good. That’s all that matters.”

***

“What book should I read to you today?”

“Hmm. Let’s go with this one.”

These days, I didn’t turn back into a fennec fox even after sunset.

Although I would become a fox again as soon as I fell asleep, it seemed I had gained some control over the transformation.

Thanks to that, we could sit side by side and read books together before bed.

Usually, Rory did the reading.

Originally, we used to read before dinner, but I had been busy practicing magic, so we moved our reading time to later.

“A long, long time ago, in a certain village…”

As if it were an unspoken rule for children’s books, most of the ones Sprout had given us started with “A long, long time ago.”

Listening to Rory’s quiet and gentle voice often made me drowsy.

It was like having a personal sleep aid.

Rory had already finished reading one thin book and set it down.

I spotted a familiar cover among the pile of books and picked it up.

“Oh, this one.”

It was “The Stable Keeper’s Tale “, a fairy tale I’d read so many times that I had it memorized by heart.

As I fiddled with the well-worn book, Rory glanced over at it.

“Have you still not written the ending? The bookstore owner must be waiting.”

“Just a little more practice with my handwriting.”

I opened the book, making excuses.

I couldn’t bring myself to write my clumsy, crooked letters next to the elegant script penned by the bookstore owner.

Even though I’d decided on the ending, I couldn’t seem to write the first sentence.

I was worried I’d ruin the beautifully crafted book.

And I couldn’t help but wonder if it was right to force a tragic fairy tale into a happy ending.

“Rory, have you heard of the story Romeo and Juliet?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“It’s a tragic story about a boy and a girl who are born into rival families. They fall in love at first sight, but in the end, both of them die.”

Ah, I wonder if writers like Shakespeare exist in this world.

If they do, I’d love to take Rory to see a play.

“Even though it has a terrible ending, the story has been loved by many people for a long time. Why do you think that is?”

Rory furrowed his brows in deep thought, his serious expression making a crease appear on his forehead.

I gently rubbed the crease to smooth it out.

“I’m not sure…”

“I think it’s because the unfulfilled love evokes a sense of longing, and the tragic ending leaves a lasting impression.”

Maybe that’s why, even if we dislike the ending, we still want to read it.

Leaning against Rory’s shoulder, I traced the illustrations in the book with my finger.

Volume 1 End