Yet, she had impulsively decided to buy this parrot. Left at the stall, it would inevitably be sold to someone else who would clip its wings, robbing it of flight. By purchasing it, she hoped to ensure it could keep its wings and remain free to fly.

“Oh, is that the parrot you bought yesterday?”

Vienny, hesitating to open the cage, looked up in surprise as Moiria approached, curiosity in her expression.

“Are you planning to let it go?”

“…No.”

“Didn’t you buy it just to set it free?”

Moiria asked, sounding surprised. Vienny furrowed her brow slightly.

“Who buys a pet bird just to let it go?”

“Well, that’s what the Inquisitor seems to think.”

At this, Vienny recalled McClart’s cold gaze toward the cage. When she’d insisted on not clipping the bird’s wings, he’d clearly been displeased, even going so far as to predict it would escape. Perhaps he’d been irritated by what he considered a pointless expense, but Vienny had ignored his reaction, quietly holding onto the cage and bringing it back with her.

He must have thought she pitied the parrot.

“I bought it because I didn’t want its wings to be clipped.”

“That’s… an unusual reason.”

Vienny silently agreed with Moiria, though she had no other way to explain it. It wasn’t exactly pity. She didn’t particularly want to set the parrot free, either. She simply wanted to open the cage and see if, even with uncut wings, the bird would choose to stay by her side.

As she toyed with the latch on the cage door, Moiria spoke up, her tone casual.

“I hear you’ve been keen on learning new things lately?”

Moiria rarely involved herself in Vienny’s personal matters, so mentioning it now meant that Vienny’s recent activities must have seemed unusual.

Vienny sighed, realizing that her lack of practical skills must indeed appear surprising to Moiria.

“I tried to learn, but it was pointless.”

She admitted, her voice tinged with discouragement. Moiria let out a small sigh.

“Yes… Corinne mentioned you were struggling a bit.”

“I didn’t realize I was this incapable.”

Vienny looked down, feeling discouraged. She’d finally shed the burdensome title of Great Witch, hoping to live like any ordinary person. She hadn’t expected to feel so… useless.

Noticing her dejection, Moiria offered a few consoling words.

“But you’re good at tending the garden, aren’t you? And the animals seem to flock to you as well.”

Perhaps not only animals, Moiria thought, though she chose to keep it vague.

Vienny listened in silence, her gaze fixed on the parrot inside the cage. After a moment, she gently unlatched the door, opening it with a soft click.

The parrot, which had been sitting quietly, flapped its wings and stepped out, momentarily looking as if it might take to the sky. Instead, it stretched its wings a few times and then hopped onto Vienny’s hand, as if it had known her far longer than just a day.

It was curious how animals seemed drawn to her, but she couldn’t see any practical use in it beyond the novelty.

“Could something like this make money?”

As Vienny muttered to herself, Moiria’s eyes widened in surprise.

Moiria paused, hesitating as if to say something, when someone suddenly interrupted in a harsh tone.

“Making money?”

Moiria groaned and pressed a hand to her forehead.

“Could you learn to wait a moment…”

“Are you thinking of running away again?”

Ignoring Moiria’s words, McClart suddenly appeared in front of Vienny with a grim expression on his face. Startled by his intensity, the parrot flapped its wings and flew upwards.

Without a glance at the bird, McClart turned his fierce gaze on Vienny and asked in a low voice.

“Do you want to leave?”

Vienny, wide-eyed at his abrupt appearance, instinctively replied.

“No, I don’t.”

Though her denial was immediate, McClart’s expression remained unconvinced. It was as if a dam had burst, and he let his frustration spill over.

“Then why this sudden interest in money? From what I hear, you had no such concern before I returned to the mansion. Your behavior has changed—isn’t it because your feelings have changed as well?”

Sitting there, Vienny looked up at McClart, noticing the familiar tension etched across his face. It was the same look he’d worn every time she’d turned her back on him. She recalled that same expression by the waterfall one day, and by the lake another.

Lost in thought, Vienny stared at him, then, almost in a trance, spoke softly.

“I…”

The truth became clear to her: he was still afraid.

It wasn’t hard to see. The events they had endured together had left lasting scars on him.

He had given up everything for her, but that had ultimately been a decision he had made and acted upon alone.

Their connection had yet to deepen or grow, still suspended in this uncertain state. And even now, he couldn’t bring himself to fully trust her.

“I just… wanted to find my own purpose.”

In that moment, she realized—she, too, had been just as one-sided.

“Purpose?”

“…Yes.”

It wasn’t really about making a living. She hadn’t intended to delve into the unfamiliar world of money for its own sake.

What had been weighing on her these past days was a newfound desire—not to lose this time in her life, a time she had never thought she could have.

McClart had claimed to want her, to have thrown his life into chaos for her. He had gone so far as to burn the fate of the Great Witch to ashes, all for her sake. It wasn’t surprising that she, in turn, had come to feel something unique and almost irreplaceable towards him.

She’d been afraid. Afraid that this man who had borne everything alone might one day, exhausted, change his mind. That his recent distance – even his failure to call her to his bed – might be the first sign of that change. Perhaps, in the solitude of the night, he was already regretting the life he’d sacrificed for her, once bewitched by a so-called demon.

“I wanted to prove I could be someone useful, even without being the Great Witch.”

“Why?”

The question caught her off guard, and she hesitated, her lips parting and closing before she finally managed to speak.

“I was afraid… that you’d regret throwing away everything because of me.”

Mcclart’s expression showed clear surprise. For once, he seemed at a loss for words, and silence settled between them, with Moiria having long since left to give them privacy.

He wore a strange expression, one she couldn’t quite interpret. His brows knit slightly, his look unreadable.

Vienny, hoping he might respond in some way—whether with criticism or even mockery—lowered her head, anxiously biting her lip, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

After a long silence as he watched her, McClart finally spoke slowly.

“So… you were trying to learn all this to support me?”

She hesitated, her brows furrowing slightly. Had she really put it that way?

“I just thought it was right for me to… take responsibility for the situation…”

“Indeed,” he murmured, nodding thoughtfully. “It’s only fitting that you should take responsibility for me.”

Taking a step closer, McClart cast a large shadow over her.

“I’ve spent my life serving the gods, yet I betrayed them for you. I have nothing left. So it’s only fair that you bear responsibility for me now.”

McClart’s face remained impassive as he spoke, clearly pressing for her response. She stared at him, slightly dazed.

“Isn’t that right?”

“Yes… I suppose.”

She replied, nodding almost reflexively. It took her a moment to fully process his words.

‘Take responsibility for him?’

“You said you’d take care of me for the rest of your life.”

“…Did I?”

No matter how she replayed the conversation in her mind, she didn’t recall saying she’d support him forever.

“So we’ll be together for life.”

Without giving Vienny a chance to question him, McClart had reached his conclusion. His lips remained tight, but there was a subtle hint of satisfaction in his expression.

Vienny, quietly observing McClart’s gaze, asked in a softer voice.

“What kind of relationship is that?”

“Well, it’s certainly not that of Inquisitor and Great Witch anymore.”

He lifted a hand and gently brushed her hair back.

“So start by changing what you call me.”

It was the third time he had said this, and only now did Vienny finally understand what he had been hinting at with his repeated remarks about “titles”.

She moistened her lips and asked cautiously.

“Is there a title you’d like to hear?”

McClart, who had played lightly with her hair, narrowed his eyes slightly. Without much hesitation, he replied.

“My name.”

It was an unexpected request.

“Call me by my name.”

She had spoken his name before in his absence, but never directly to him.

The realisation caused her voice to falter slightly. She rolled the word over her tongue a few times before finally speaking it with careful deliberation.

“…McClart.”

The fingers that had been twirling her hair suddenly stopped. Noticing this, Vienny looked at McClart with a puzzled expression.

“McClart?”

Her voice was clearer this time, more natural than before.

McClart, deep in thought, didn’t even blink. Did he regret hearing his name now that it had been spoken?

Seeing his silence, Vienny’s expression grew tense and she spoke again, uncertain.

“Mac… Ah!”

Suddenly she was lifted into the air. Startled, Vienny instinctively wrapped her arms around McClart’s neck and clung to him. As she did so, she felt the strength of his arms holding her securely.

“I’ve realised what you’re good at.”

“What?”

Still clinging to him, her shoulders hunched, Vienny slowly looked up at him.

McClart held her lightly, his gaze meeting hers. His blue eyes, intense and unwavering, held a fervour she hadn’t seen in days, yet it was familiar, like something they both instinctively recognised.

“You have a natural talent for breaking my self-control.”

* * *

“You should be grateful that anyone is interested in your wicked body at all.”

From somewhere in the shadows, a voice she thought she had buried long ago echoed from the depths of her memory.

Turning towards it, she caught sight of a faint figure – a doll-like form flickering in the darkness, its face unnaturally pale against the darkness.

“Granting an opportunity to a foolish soul like yours is simply the will of the gods.”

The voice was clear, almost cheerful, yet chilling, paired with a sinister smile.

Startled by the sight, she stepped back, only to feel a presence looming behind her. Turning quickly, she saw a blood-soaked woman scowling at her.

“Are you… afraid to die?”

The woman held a gleaming dagger in her hand.

Instinctively, she looked down at her abdomen. Crimson blood was spreading in a dark stain across her clothes.

“If so, let me help you.”

Blood seeped through her trembling fingers as she clutched her wound.