The following morning, Qubi's first rays of sunlight failed to pierce the thin haze that perpetually hung over the mining districts, yet the mood across the entire city had undergone a complete and total transformation.
The glass lamps and the black jade throne of the previous night had already become relics of the old era.
With a single proclamation stamped with Sophia's private golden seal posted at every city gate, the former Kingdom of Qubi officially passed into history. In its place stood the City of Qubi — the most strategically vital territory now under Mason's dominion.
In the square before the Qubi Palace, Sophia stood clad in a black, gold-trimmed hunting outfit, her cape snapping in the cold wind.
With her own hands, she lowered the Qubi royal banner — embroidered with golden mining picks — and in its place raised the Black Rose battle flag, that symbol of absolute rule and living vitality.
"Effective immediately, the Kingdom of Qubi is dissolved and renamed the City of Qubi."
Sophia's voice, amplified by magic, rang out clearly to every last corner of the city.
"The subordinate settlements of Stone Mine Village and White Stone Village retain their original names and will serve as the outer support zone for mineral production. The former King of Qubi — or rather, the current City Lord of Qubi — will continue to administer this land on This Queen's behalf. Your taxes, your laws, and your future grain rations will all be managed and dispatched by Mason in a unified manner."
When the subjects heard the words "grain rations managed in a unified manner," they erupted in a cheer even louder than the one before.
To them, whether the figure sitting above them was called a King or a City Lord was irrelevant. What mattered was that they were now Masonites.
This meant that in the near term, no other country would dare attack them. And if a war ever were to break out with Mason, even ordinary civilians who played no part in the fighting would suffer terribly. So joining Mason and eating Mason's grain was an extraordinarily good deal.
Mason's tax rate was, after all, far lower than Qubi's. After joining, they could actually keep more of what they earned.
While the common subjects celebrated, the bureaucratic apparatus of the former Kingdom of Qubi was facing the most grueling test of their careers.
Inside the Main Hall, Sophia sat at the head of the table while Willow stood beside her holding a thick copy of the "Mason Talent Standards Manual."
"This Queen does not keep idle hands, nor does This Queen force anyone against their will."
Sophia swept a cool gaze over the nervous, trembling ministers below.
"Those who are old and wish to retire in peace — This Queen grants you permission to return to your hometowns. Those who wish to remain in the City of Qubi and serve under the City Lord are also welcome to do so."
She paused here, a flicker of amusement passing through her pale golden pupils.
"But if any of you consider yourselves truly gifted and feel that a small city like Qubi cannot contain your ambitions — in half a month, Mason Royal City will hold its first examination. Those who pass the assessment conducted by This Queen and Chancellor Valery will enter Mason's core circle of power."
The moment those words landed, the young officials who had already been slumping in despair, mentally preparing to coast along on whatever scraps remained, suddenly felt a spark ignite behind their eyes — the spark of career ambition.
Heavens above — become an official in Mason?
I've heard that Mason's ministers eat fresh fruits and vegetables at every meal, and there are incredible Year-End Festival bonuses!
This isn't a nation being destroyed — this is someone opening a staircase straight to the top for us!
We're taking the exam. We absolutely have to take the exam.
While the officials wrestled with their futures, Irene — who had been holding herself back for far too long and could no longer contain herself — had already led a squad of black musketeers and charged straight into Stone Mine Village.
"Your Majesty, oh my — the copper ore layer here is incredibly shallow!"
"Your Majesty, Your Majesty! And over here — this spot is fantastic too!"
Irene rushed about with a rough map in hand, scribbling all over it in a frenzy, terrified of missing a single vein.
She had originally thought that getting a modest shipment of ore from Qubi each year would be precious enough. She hadn't imagined that this entire mineral-rich territory would become theirs.
All of it.
If the mines weren't so filthy, Irene absolutely would have rolled around in them several times.
Meanwhile, Delilah was up on the city walls reorganizing the defensive arrangements. She had broken apart Qubi's formerly lax garrison forces and folded them entirely into Mason's second-line reserve corps.
Going forward, the City of Qubi only needed a partial garrison. And given that the city had just been absorbed, Sophia's personality meant she definitely wouldn't leave all the Qubi soldiers behind — she would bring a portion back to Mason and leave a portion of her own people here instead.
This way, keeping some soldiers the City Lord was accustomed to alongside some of Mason's own people, trust could be fully established over time.
The Qubi morning carried no chorus of birdsong, only the distant, dull rumbling of ore cart wheels turning in the mines.
Escorted by a cavalry squad of black musketeers, Sophia changed into a sharp black deerskin hunting outfit.
To prevent the coal dust from sullying that head of brilliant, silver-sand-like hair, Willow had carefully tied a deep purple silk headscarf around it for her — preserving the Queen's regal dignity while adding a touch of commanding sharpness.
"Your Majesty, this is the very heart of Qubi's wealth."
The City Lord of Qubi rode half a horse-length behind Sophia, gripping the silver administrative staff that symbolized his managerial authority, pointing toward the vast, ash-grey mountain ahead that looked as though some giant had taken bites out of it.
This was the largest open-pit coal mine in the entire territory. Gazing as far as the eye could see, black, terraced mineral layers plunged down toward the earth's core, while tens of thousands of miners crawled across them like ants on black paper.
"In the past, we had to haul the coal out bit by bit using animal power. The total output for an entire year was barely enough to last through winter. So we never exported any of it, and never told anyone that Qubi even had coal — the production really was that low."
The City Lord of Qubi looked out over the land with quiet feeling, his tone carrying the calm that comes from having fully surrendered something.
"Even so, these coal mines meant that far fewer Qubi people froze to death every winter. But now that all of this belongs to Your Majesty, this minister is willing to make fully public every last mining technique and every hidden passage."
By this point, Irene had completely abandoned any pretense of decorum. She crouched at the edge of a mining pit, scooped up a handful of raw coal, squeezed it hard, then sprinted back to the front of Sophia's horse with barely contained excitement.
"Your Majesty! The hardness and the luster of this coal... it's top grade!"
Sophia's pale golden pupils looked down into the deep pit as her fingertips absently traced the horse's reins.
The carriage continued east along the winding mountain path, arriving at Stone Mine Village — terrain even more precipitous than before. The scenery here was no longer purely black, but shot through with a peculiar dark green — the color of oxidized copper ore.
"Your Majesty, these refined copper veins are something this minister has kept hidden all this time, terrified of attracting Orr's attention. Though admittedly, they had already been eyeing us for quite a while."
The City Lord personally dismounted and lifted the heavy canvas curtain covering the mine entrance for Sophia.
"But in Your Majesty's presence, concealment is pointless."
Stepping into the mine, under the gentle radiance of Daphne's staff, the rock walls shimmered with an alluring metallic luster.
"Copper!"
Irene let out a short, sharp yelp. She extended her hand, fingertips trembling as she reverently traced the natural ore veins in the stone.
"Your Majesty... this is copper! And not just for vessels and coins — with this, my precision components, my devices — I could even invent so many more incredible things!"
Sophia gazed at those glittering ore deposits, feeling the final, most critical piece snap into place in the map of industrial hegemony she carried in her heart.
Coal is power. Steel is muscle. And copper — copper is the nervous system of civilization.
With this mineral district secured, Mason was no longer a mere territory. It was an awakening titan.
Throughout the inspection tour, the City Lord of Qubi kept his eyes on Sophia's face. He had originally anticipated that upon witnessing wealth of this magnitude, this Queen would at least let slip some flicker of greed or elation.
But Sophia maintained a near-indifferent calm from beginning to end. She would occasionally tap a finger against the stone walls, occasionally murmur a few numbers for Willow to record — her manner less like someone receiving a windfall and more like someone surveying the lawn in her own backyard.
What a terrifying depth of composure... These ore veins, which would drive any king on the Northern border to madness, appear this unremarkable in her eyes?
Right, of course. I was foolish to think otherwise. Before a being who can conjure winter seeds and life-saving divine medicines out of thin air, these stones are nothing more than tools under her rule.
Thank the gods I got down on my knees fast enough last night. Otherwise, this black earth would likely have become a royal burial ground by now.
Inspecting mine shafts was brutal work — cold, dark, and reeking of minerals.
Willow stayed exactly one step behind Sophia at all times, passing her a mint-infused damp cloth at regular intervals to keep the coal dust from getting into Sophia's lungs.
Her gaze swept across the ore deposits, but her thoughts were elsewhere:
The roads here are dreadful. I'll need to press the City Lord to lay down proper stone paving on the way back. We cannot have Her Majesty's boots treading through all this filth.
Daphne, meanwhile, had become the most extravagant mobile light source imaginable. She held her pink pentagram staff aloft, and the Holy Light not only illuminated the path ahead but drove out the damp, musty smell of the mine shaft entirely.
As the last sliver of sunset sank behind the ash-grey mountain range, the bustle of the City of Qubi finally fell quiet.
The day's inspection had yielded far more than Sophia had expected. Beyond the five already-operational mines, the City Lord of Qubi — in a display of eager loyalty — had even shown her three additional reserve veins that had yet to be developed due to insufficient labor.
Those precious metals sleeping beneath the earth were, in Sophia's eyes, not merely wealth. They were the fuel that would power Mason's war machine as it crushed the old era flat.
---
Inside the Palace Bedchamber, several large copper basins radiated a gentle warmth.
Qubi's handmaids had long since prepared steaming bathwater, and per Willow's instructions, they had even added several drops of lavender essential oil to soothe the nerves.
Sophia stepped alone into the massive wooden bathtub. The warm water instantly enveloped her exhausted limbs, drawing the bone-deep chill of the mine shaft out of her body.
She rested her head against the rim of the tub, her silver hair lying damp across her pale shoulders. Her pale golden pupils drifted, unfocused, through the curling steam.
She had just closed her eyes to rest when from behind the folding screen came the softest, lightest of footsteps, accompanied by a familiar, sweet, honeyed pulse of Holy Light.
"Your Majesty... are you asleep?"
Daphne peeked her head around the screen. She had already changed out of her elaborate Saint's robes and into a light sleeping gown. Twisting her fingers together, she noticed Sophia hadn't opened her eyes — and so, taking her courage in both hands, she slipped quietly inside, carrying a small jar of specially made massage balm.
"Your Majesty walked for an entire day — your ankles and shoulders must be aching terribly. This minister... this minister will help knead them."
Sophia opened one eye. She looked at Daphne's expression — the wide, eager, almost pleading look of it — and in the end simply couldn't bring herself to chase her out. She let out a faint hum of acknowledgment.
Daphne's eyes lit up instantly, bright enough to illuminate the room. The elation on her face was that of someone who had just been granted entry into sacred ground.
She knelt on a soft cushion behind the bathtub, coating her palms with the warm, fragrant balm, then gently laid her hands on Sophia's shoulders where they rose above the waterline.
Daphne's fingertips naturally carried the warmth of Holy Light. Each press, each slow circle of her palms, sent a gentle current of warmth sinking precisely into the aching muscles beneath.
"Your Majesty, your skin is so smooth here..."
Daphne murmured softly, her cheeks flushing pink from the steam and from something she couldn't quite name.
Sophia breathed out a contented sigh, feeling the slightly flustered yet remarkably diligent technique of Daphne's hands.
The Bedchamber was quiet. Only the occasional sound of water and the mingled breathing of two people broke the stillness, the air thick with a clinging, honeyed warmth.
But when Daphne's hands slid from the shoulders downward and pressed against the outer side of Sophia's upper left arm, her movements abruptly froze.
Daphne bowed her head. Her trembling fingertips gently traced a scar on Sophia's upper arm — roughly three fingers in length, faintly raised, a pale, faded white.
Against Sophia's flawless skin, smooth as fine jade, this scar — blurred by the passage of time — stood out with jarring clarity. It was like a crack hewn into a perfect work of art.
"Your Majesty... what is this?"
Daphne's voice suddenly caught, carrying a thin edge of grief. It was the sound of someone in profound, aching tenderness.
"Who — who dared to wound your sacred person?"
Sophia tilted her head slightly and glanced at the old scar. Something deep in her eyes flickered — a trace of nostalgia, and a rare softness.
That was a very long time ago.
She settled back against the rim of the tub, her voice as flat and calm as still water.
"It wasn't long after I first met Irene. There was a sudden ambush, and that girl was too frightened to dodge out of the way. When that sword came thrusting in... if I had moved aside, she wouldn't have made it."
Sophia paused, the corner of her mouth curling into a faint, barely-there arc.
"So I took it for her. The Potions back then weren't as refined as they are now, and I didn't have you, so the treatment was a bit rough — which is why it left this mark."
"So it... it was from protecting Irene?"
Daphne bit her lower lip. The Holy Light in her hands suddenly intensified.
She lifted her gaze, her eyes brimming with longing:
"Your Majesty, this minister's Holy Light Arts have improved enough to remove scars now. If you would permit it, in under five minutes, this minister could make this ugly scar disappear completely — restore your body to its most perfect state."
As she spoke, she pressed her palm firmly against the scar, the restorative power already stirring eagerly at her fingertips.
But Sophia raised her other hand and gently closed it around Daphne's wrist, stopping the magic before it could begin.
"There's no need, Daphne."
Sophia turned her head and looked directly into Daphne's eyes. Her fingertip lightly traced the scar.
"It isn't exactly pretty, I'll admit that. But when I see it, I remember why I brought that pack of madmen to where we are today. Irene — every time that girl catches sight of this mark, she never says a word about it. But she always works a little harder afterward."
Sophia let out a quiet, soft laugh.
"Call it the price of something called protection. Leave it, Daphne. Some marks matter more than perfection."
Daphne stared at Sophia, feeling the force transmitted through the hand around her wrist — cool, clear, and absolute in its conviction.
In her eyes, Sophia was no longer only that cold, magnificent Queen issuing decrees from the black jade throne. She was a person of flesh and blood, of warmth — someone who would surrender her own perfection for the sake of those under her protection.
"Your Majesty..."
Daphne breathed her name in a low murmur. Then she tilted forward, pressing her forehead against Sophia's damp shoulder. When she spoke, her voice carried a piety and a fervor unlike any she had shown before.
"This minister understands now. This isn't merely a scar. This is Your Majesty's medal."
She paused.
"Since Your Majesty wishes to keep it, then this minister... will guard it for you, always. Of course, should Your Majesty ever change her mind, Daphne will be ready to serve at any time."
A wound taken to protect a subordinate...
Your Majesty really is playing dirty...
This kind of extreme tenderness hidden behind a cold mask — there's simply no resisting it.
Irene is so, so lucky.
Daphne lowered her lashes, her gaze locking onto that pale white mark on Sophia's arm.
She knew full well that Irene was Sophia's most trusted inventor — the spark of Mason's future. But the moment she imagined that scene: that blood-soaked instant when her revered Majesty, without a single moment of hesitation, threw her own body in front of a blade to shield that girl who spent her days banging and clattering and was perpetually covered in coal dust...
Daphne felt as if someone had stuffed an entire unripe green lime into her chest. The sourness crept all the way up to the tip of her nose.
To protect Irene, she left a wound that can never be erased?
At a moment of life and death, Her Majesty's very first instinct was that perpetually-inventing Chief Inventor?
Why... why didn't this minister meet Her Majesty just a little bit sooner?
If she had been there, she would have wrapped Her Majesty in the strongest Holy Light barrier imaginable. Not a single dirty blade would have come within reach of Her Majesty's skin.
This scar is practically a mark — a privilege carved into Her Majesty's body that belongs only to Irene.
This feeling is truly, genuinely insufferable.
Without realizing it, Daphne's hands had tightened. She bit her lip and suddenly leaned in, pressing her cheek halfway against Sophia's back. Her voice came out muffled.
"Your Majesty is playing favorites. That Irene is always so clumsy — she even made Your Majesty take a sword for her. This minister is going to become stronger. Stronger than Delilah. More useful than Irene."
She paused, voice going very quiet.
"When that time comes... will Your Majesty make a place for this minister in your heart too? Even without a medal like this one — that's okay."
Sophia felt the abnormal warmth pressing against her back and let out a long-suffering sigh.
"Daphne, you are a Saint. Your hands exist to heal all living beings — not to dwell on old scores like this."
"This minister doesn't care about any living beings!"
Daphne lifted her head, her jade-green eyes blazing with a near-stubborn ardor. She shifted her form of address, and with those hands warmed by Holy Light, she gripped the arm bearing the scar with both of hers.
"In this minister's eyes, the entire world combined is not as important as this one scar of Your Majesty's. Since Your Majesty won't let this minister remove it, then from now on, this minister will apply Saint Glory Protection to this wound every single night."
She held on tight.
"Until... until whenever Your Majesty looks at it, you won't only think of Irene. You'll also think of me — the one who stayed by your side."
Steam continued to rise and curl in the dim, warm lamplight of the Bedchamber, wreathing the bathtub in something dreamlike.
Listening to those deeply vinegary words from behind her, Sophia found that her impulse to deliver a firm rebuke had faded somewhat.
She tilted her head slightly. Her damp silver hair slipped from her rounded shoulder and revealed a stretch of neck as graceful as a swan's.
Sophia did not pull back the arm Daphne was gripping. Instead, she slowly reached out her other hand, threading it through the layers of pale mist, and lightly hooked one of Daphne's strands of hair that had fallen forward.
The strand still held a faint warmth left behind by Holy Light. Sophia's fingertips moved, wrapping the strand once around her finger — and then applied just enough force to make Daphne lift that small face of hers, which was written all over with "I am not pleased."
"Daphne. Little one."
Sophia looked at her own reflection caught in those jade-green pupils. Her voice, softened by the steam, had shed some of its usual cold edge, replaced by a low, husky warmth that could drown a person.
"Irene is Mason's spark, and that wound is a memento This Queen left for the past. But you — you are This Queen's Saint. The light that illuminates Mason's darkest nights."
She paused. The pad of her thumb drifted, seemingly without intent, across Daphne's cheek — trailing a faint, involuntary shiver in its wake.
"Since This Queen has permitted you to stay at her side, then within this heart... naturally there is a place for you too."
"Past, present, or future — among the people This Queen keeps in mind, your name, Daphne, will never be absent."
In that instant, Daphne's mind went blank with a resounding boom, as if countless blooms of Holy Light fireworks had detonated all at once.
Sophia's fingertips were not particularly warm, yet to Daphne they felt more scorching than the fiercest furnace fire at the bottom of the mine.
That "kept in mind" — spoken aloud by a sovereign, uniquely hers — made her breath collapse into disorder.
Your Majesty said... she keeps me in mind?
Not as a Saint. Not as a subordinate. But as an indispensable presence.
Her eyes are so gentle. Gentler than the softest moonlight over the City of Hill, enough to make a person lose themselves completely.
My heart is pounding so fast — fast enough to crack through my ribs and burst out. If this is what it feels like to be kept in Her Majesty's heart, then even if the Holy Light burned her to nothing this very moment, she would go gladly.
Daphne's cheeks blazed crimson, nearly red enough to bleed. The sourness and jealousy that had consumed her evaporated before that single word — "kept in mind" — routed entirely, replaced by an endless, sweeping sweetness.
When a person is struck by an overwhelming surge of emotion, they often do things they would never dare in ordinary moments.
Breathing in the air of the room — that blend of lavender and Sophia's own private scent — Daphne's courage in that instant swelled to its absolute limit.
She did not retreat. Instead, using that captured strand of hair as her anchor, she lurched forward.
Splash —
With a soft rush of water, Daphne threw both arms forward and locked them tightly around Sophia's shoulders from behind.
Sophia was sitting in the tub, the water coming just up to her collarbones.
Daphne's warm cheek pressed against Sophia's damp, bare shoulder, close enough to feel the slight tightening of the muscles there in response to the sudden contact.
"Then Your Majesty... must keep this minister in mind, always."
Daphne closed her eyes, breathing in the faint, cool fragrance at Sophia's neck with unabashed greed.
Her slightly damp sleeping gown pressed against the edge of the bathtub. The Holy Light flickered softly around their overlapping silhouettes, tinting the surrounding steam a delicate, gorgeous shade of pale pink.
"As long as Your Majesty doesn't cast this minister aside... this minister is willing to stay by your side for the rest of her life."
The pale pink traces of magic had not fully faded from the steam-filled Bedchamber.
Sophia felt the ardent, insistent warmth pressing against her back, and something in her chest went faintly, imperceptibly soft. She reached back and gently patted the hands Daphne had clasped across her chest.
"Alright. Any longer and the water will go cold."
Daphne came back to herself as if waking from a dream and, with great reluctance, loosened her arms.
In all the excitement of that embrace, a few strands of her golden hair had slipped into the bathwater. The damp tips were now clinging to the front of her sleeping gown.
Sophia looked at Daphne's somewhat dazed expression — the look of someone who had received a promise and hadn't quite landed back in reality — and pointed to the thick towel nearby.
"Go dry your hair before you leave. The night wind in Qubi is fierce. If you catch a chill, This Queen won't have the time to personally nurse you back to health."
She paused, her gaze drifting toward the tightly closed door.
"Or — have Willow send in more hot water later. You can wash up as well. Use magic to dry off before you go, so the damp doesn't seep into your bones."
Daphne had been obediently reaching for the towel, but the moment she heard "Willow," her ears perked straight up.
Her little face flushed, eyes betraying a visible hint of probing suspicion and barely-concealed jealousy.
"Your Majesty — on ordinary days, when you bathe... is it always Miss Willow who attends to you?"
She gripped the towel tightly, held her breath, and asked in a voice barely above a whisper — yet with an unmistakable trace of wounded dignity.
"This minister... this minister believes she could do it too. This minister's Holy Light can keep the water temperature constant, and can help Your Majesty knead the meridians — it's absolutely not inferior to Miss Willow..."
Sophia looked at Daphne's expression — clearly embarrassed enough to sink through the floor, yet stubbornly craning her neck to stake a claim — and felt the heaviness that had been piling up from work melt away by several degrees.
She leaned forward slightly, sending a quiet ripple across the water.
Then, Sophia extended one slender, fair finger — still carrying a few undried water droplets — and lightly pressed it against Daphne's lips, which had been pressed tight with anxiety.
"You..."
Sophia laughed softly, her gaze holding the fond, teasing quality of an elder indulging a child's antics.
"You still haven't grown up."
Those words landed like a tap on a kitten's tail.
Daphne's spine shot straight up. Her jade-green eyes filled with earnest, bewildered protest, and she launched into her defense with urgency:
"Your Majesty! This minister is grown up! In this minister's original world — the Magical Girl world — this minister was already in high school. And after coming to this world, two or three years have passed on top of that. By either measure, this minister is basically an adult! If you count the time before, this minister might even be older than Your Majesty!"
Sophia watched her scrambling to prove herself. Without withdrawing her finger, she let it slide gently along Daphne's lips and then drew her hand back to her side.
"The 'grown up' This Queen speaks of has nothing to do with how long you have lived in this world, nor your supposed age as a high schooler."
Sophia leaned back against the tub wall, letting the warm water rise to her shoulders, her voice slow and layered with meaning.
"Time is an empty scale. True growth is this: when you can see through the falsehood of power, when you can carry the full weight of an entire city on your back — and still manage to keep this kind of purity in front of This Queen."
Daphne listened to Sophia's profound words and began constructing her own interpretation.
This means... Your Majesty is refusing to let me attend her bath in order to protect the purity of the Holy Light within my heart?
Heavens... every single one of Your Majesty's refusals carries such profound, hidden tenderness.
I was so shallow — all I was thinking about was jealousy.
Your Majesty, this minister will absolutely work hard to become the person you are hoping for!
Sophia watched Daphne clench both fists and silently cheer herself on, and knew immediately that she had misunderstood.
In Daphne's original world, her role as a Magical Girl had been one of constant righteous battle — defeating monsters, protecting people. But at the age of a middle schooler, then a high schooler, her life had consisted only of fighting evil and shielding the innocent, with no social life and no free time whatsoever.
The result was that while Daphne had not been alive for a short time, many things remained genuinely complicated for her. She knew she felt jealous, she knew she wanted certain things — but she didn't fully know what any of it meant.
Though Daphne kept insisting loudly that she was "already grown up," the moment she faced Sophia's pale golden eyes — those eyes that seemed to see through everything — she became like a little cat getting its fur smoothed, and could only shuffle, with much twisting and glancing back, out around the folding screen.
With a soft rustle of water, Sophia stepped bare-footed out of the bathtub.
She pulled a large black silk bath towel toward her and absently dried the glistening water from her skin.
She did not call Willow in to attend her. Instead, she selected for herself a moon-white silk sleeping gown from the rack.
The style was extremely minimal — the loose collar barely catching on the curve of her rounded shoulder, the thin fabric clinging against a body not yet fully dry.
It had been designed by Irene and sewn by the Palace seamstresses, and it suited Sophia's aesthetic perfectly.
When Sophia came around the folding screen — walking out while rubbing at that wet, silver-sand-damp mass of hair with the towel — Daphne, who had been waiting in the outer room, simply froze.
The lamplight of the Bedchamber swayed and flickered. Its warm, amber glow filtered through the thin moon-white silk, tracing the elegant curves beneath in a half-hidden, half-revealed silhouette.
Wet strands of hair clung to the white of her neck, and a few water droplets slid along the line of her collarbone before disappearing into the deep, exquisite shadow below.
Like this, Sophia had shed some of the lethal severity she wore on the throne, replaced by a languid beauty that made it impossible to look away.
"Y-Your Majesty..."
Daphne swallowed instinctively, the flush on her cheeks rushing instantly all the way to the tips of her ears.
She twisted the hem of her sleeping gown in her hands, eyes darting away — yet unable to stop themselves from stealing glances.
"Your figure... is truly wonderful. Like the goddess sculptures this minister has seen in the Sacred Texts. No — a thousand times more beautiful than those stone figures."
Hearing Daphne's heartfelt admiration, Sophia stilled her hair-drying.
She raised an eyebrow slightly, her gaze lingering on that flushed little face for a moment.
Perhaps because of the earlier dispute in the bathtub about growing up, Sophia's eyes drifted, almost unconsciously, downward along Daphne's thin sleeping gown.
At which point, even Sophia could not suppress a quiet, internal note of surprise.
Just now I was only thinking about her being psychologically immature.
Looking more carefully now — the hardware on this body is rather... ahead of its time.
That face was pure, guileless, and brimming with youthful energy. Yet the originally loose-fitting pink sleeping gown was being stretched quite significantly out of shape by the breathtaking, rounded presence beneath — and with every breath Daphne drew, that substantial reality trembled in a way that was rather dizzying to behold.
It seemed that Magical Girls, when it came to physical development, truly did benefit from some manner of unreasonable bonus.
____
________________________________________
🌸 Help Love Bloom!
Our girls need a little push... and you can help!
💖 Gift for Everyone: Once we hit 50 Powerstones, I'll release +1 bonus chapter to warm your hearts.
🚀 Community Reward: If we reach 20 supporting members, we'll have a +5 chapter marathon across all stories! The romance won't stop.
👻 Come to our secret corner: Search for GirlsLove on (P). You know that's where the magic happens... 😉