Part 3

Although it was still daytime and the sun shone brightly outside the walls of that enormous mansion, natural light was conspicuously absent inside. The task of illumination fell to the gothic chandeliers that adorned every corner of the house, varying in size, color, and weight, but providing little lighter than a half-lit candle.

“You were looking for me?” Patrick asked as he entered the heavy wooden doors of Vincent's study.

“Why do you continue to act so recklessly?” Vincent inquired, noticing his brother covered in blood.

Vincent was known for his elegance and composure, with a serious yet chivalrous demeanor. His downturned eyes could not dim the vivid blue hidden behind his long reddish lashes. His copper-colored hair was always slicked back, not a single strand out of place. His gentlemanly style was impeccable, everything precisely where it should be, leaving no room for improvisation.

“Annie?”

“She has nothing to do with this,” Patrick replied as Vincent rose from his chair to place a manuscript on the enormous bookshelf behind him, leaving a few moments of silence.

Vincent was a man who always took care to choose his words carefully, knowing the potential harm they could inflict. With a delicate gesture, he placed the book in a niche on the pristine shelf, then approached Patrick and rested one of his strong hands on his younger brother’s shoulder.

“It’s been millennia since Tultïen…”

“I know! But you can’t ask me to do something you’re incapable of yourself,” Patrick retorted, slightly irritated, cutting him off. “How long has it been? Two? Three eras? And you still search for her tirelessly. At least you can hope to reunite with her, but I…” he clenched his teeth around his last words, his right fist tightening as he bowed his head slightly.

Vincent knew that the subject of Tultïen was still a painfully sensitive issue for his brother, and that no matter how he tried to discuss it, Patrick would react defensively, refusing to allow anyone to heal the deep wound in his heart.

As Patrick’s right fist tightened, Vincent realized that this was not the best time to address the topic of Tultïen. Though a wound healed properly in time was better than a quick stitch, he decided it was wiser to change the subject.

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about… I believe I’ve finally found her whereabouts.”

“What are you waiting for?” Patrick asked, his voice filled with excitement and genuine surprise.

“All in due time, brother,” Vincent replied thoughtfully as he returned to one of the corridors of his vast library.

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In a small Renaissance neighborhood of Sainte-Cóline, strings of tiny lights hung between the buildings, bringing life and joy to the corners of Élise. The grand structures contrasted with the varied stone decorations that adorned every nook of each building. It was no exaggeration to say that Élise’s neighborhood was the most well-known in all of Sainte-Cóline, famous for its tourist-friendly atmosphere, welcoming environment, and jovial spirit. In one of the many streets that made up the neighborhood, in a cul-de-sac, nestled between “Monsieur Benoit’s” barbershop and the small but charming tea shop, stood the café where Yuna worked.

The entrance, which spanned the entire wall, featured large glass doors that allowed a full view of the interior. “Café et Sucre” wasn’t just your typical café serving hand-ground coffee; it also offered a delightful array of cakes and cookies, all lovingly prepared and baked with care.

"Finally! Time to eat!" Carol shouted as the last customer left the café, while Yuna finished placing the trays in their respective spots. Suddenly, as if bitten by a mosquito, Yuna slapped her forehead with force.

“No! The food! I knew I forgot something.”

“You rushed out of the house again, didn’t you?” Carol asked Yuna, who responded with a guilty smile. “I think I saw a lunchbox in your bag.”

“Really?” Yuna asked, surprised.

“Yuna… you’re hopeless,” Carol scolded her friend while grabbing her arm and dragging her to the lockers.

Carol was one of the few friends Yuna had, as her life could be summed up as “home-work,” “work-home”; that was it. Carol was a cheerful and lively girl, standing at about five foot seven with light brown hair. She had moved from Spain to finish her studies here in France but ended up so captivated by the charm of Sainte-Cóline that her study trip turned into a permanent move to the country known for its capital, “the city of love.”

“See, I told you I saw something,” Carol said as Yuna pulled out a small blue lunchbox with a little yellow sticky note attached to it from her bag.

Yuna smiled contentedly because, although she didn’t know how her sister did it, it seemed as if Nasai could read her mind or knew exactly when she would need something.

If she got a cut, Nasai would somehow have already placed a packet of band-aids and some disinfectant cream in her bag. If the dreaded “red visitor” arrived unexpectedly, her sister would have already packed a supply of pads and painkillers. Yuna simply couldn’t understand how Nasai managed it, but she was always, always there for her. And she couldn’t help but wonder what she would do without her.

“I wish I had a sister like yours,” Carol remarked, seeing the wide smile on Yuna’s face.