The atmosphere was warm and peaceful, like a simple, happy domestic moment between a married couple.

But Shia’s words snapped Ella out of her alcohol-induced stupor.

Her eyes widened, her rosy lips parting slightly as she stared at Shia, stunned.

This was clearly something she hadn’t expected.

“The Ninth-Tier Forbidden Spell: 'Blessing of the Undead' can guide the souls of the deceased back to the living world by using their lingering connections as a conduit. However, because it’s a high-level forbidden spell, the academy doesn’t currently have the spell scrolls in its archives.”

Shia explained as he continued caring for her, his touch soft and reassuring.

The warm towel soothed her face, loosening her tense features and seeping comfort deep into her heart.

Ella listened in silence, her lips pressed tightly together.

She hadn’t realized he had been working tirelessly on her behalf, rather than merely bullying her as she had thought.

'So cunning…!'

“You never told me. How could I have known?”

Ella lowered her gaze, her voice laced with soft reproach.

“So, this is somehow my fault?”

She lifted her head, pouting and glaring at Shia with mock ferocity.

“Fine, fine, my fault. I should’ve told you earlier,” Shia conceded, smiling helplessly.

“Now, be good and get some rest.”

What else could Shia do?

Faced with a drunken older woman, he had no choice but to humor her.

At the moment, she seemed far from the mature and composed elder figure she usually presented herself as.

Instead, she was more like a sulking child in need of coaxing and indulgence.

Ella pouted, her dissatisfaction evident.

'I’m not a child!'

'Why is he using that tone with me?'

Still, her emotions were too tangled, a mix of bitterness and vulnerability that even she couldn’t fully untangle.

Shia, continuing to speak gently, attempted to guide her to bed.

But before he could fully stand, Ella suddenly pressed him down, pinning him against the back of the sofa.

Shia’s back hit the couch, and he was face-to-face with Ella, her flushed face inches from his.

Her full figure leaned heavily against him, the weight warm and tangible.

Perhaps due to the alcohol, her body radiated a higher temperature than usual, her skin hot to the touch.

The faint aroma of her perfume mixed with the scent of wine, wafting into Shia’s senses.

“Don’t move!”

Her voice was low, slightly slurred but resolute.

She rested her head on Shia’s shoulder, her entire body practically melting into his embrace.

“I… I just need a shoulder to lean on.”

The breath she exhaled against his neck was warm and slightly damp.

Shia didn’t respond, allowing her to rest against him.

Ella didn’t need him to say anything.

The emotions she had been suppressing for so long weighed heavily on her, and the alcohol made her feel light enough to finally let them spill over.

She didn’t need a reply; talking to herself was enough.

“Tonight… is the anniversary of his death.”

“It feels like it happened just yesterday. But when I count carefully… it’s been ten years, hasn’t it?”

“For ten years, I’ve been alone.”

Her eyes were open but unfocused, misted with memories.

Her thoughts drifted, filling the room with the melancholy of her recollections.

“Becoming a witch… was never my intention.”

Like every innocent, idealistic girl, Ella once had a dream.

She had wanted to be a songstress who brought happiness to others.

In the beginning, everything had been so beautiful.

Her life was fulfilling yet simple.

Back then, as a carefree girl, she would sit among the common folk, her face glowing with joy.

Her long violet hair danced lightly in the breeze, her lips curving into an easy, contented smile.

The sunlight kissed her face, her starry eyes sparkling with hope and dreams for the future, radiating happiness.

Her voice was melodious, like a lark soaring freely in the blue sky.

The villagers, from all walks of life, gathered around her. Some sat on small stools, others directly on the ground.

They weren’t family, nor friends, yet the happiness on their faces was uniform.

In those days, Ella felt fulfilled, sensing the purpose of her existence.

She had dreamed of using her voice to bring joy to everyone.

The nobility had their own troubles, but their lives were always luxurious and abundant.

The peasants, however, were burdened with daily struggles to survive, their faces etched with sorrow.

So, she sang for them, hoping to bring them hope and happiness with her songs.

Life would get better—she had believed that then.

Back then, her heart was light, unburdened by dark secrets or the manipulations of the Witch’s Night Banquet.

She had been innocent and full of dreams.

But such joy was fleeting.

A songstress, despite her radiant allure, was far too fragile.

Her songs could bring happiness, but without a powerful force to protect her, she was destined to become a caged bird.

In the face of the nobility’s authority, she could protect nothing—not her dreams, nor herself.

The girl, who had only just begun to envision her future, had her dreams shattered when a noble set his sights on her.

Apart from singing, she knew nothing and had nothing.

She almost lost her parents because of it.

As these memories surfaced, Ella’s spirits sank further.

Instinctively seeking comfort, she burrowed deeper into Shia’s warmth.

The security of his embrace, the strength of his chest, and the gentle hand stroking her back—all of it brought her a sense of peace.

Suddenly, she became conscious of her actions.

'Why am I in someone else’s arms?'

'Why is there even someone else?'

'My husband is gone…'

Ella pushed Shia away instinctively, retreating slightly.

“I’m sorry. I lost control of my emotions.”

Rubbing her forehead, her gaze lifted—and landed on her late husband’s portrait.

The black-and-white photo stared forward with a gentle gaze, as though watching her across time.

Ella’s clarity returned fully, and a wave of guilt crashed over her, heavy and oppressive.

She had just leaned into another man’s embrace in front of her late husband’s portrait.

Even though she knew, deep down, that her feelings for her husband weren’t truly love.

What she felt was more responsibility and gratitude than affection.

He had once saved her life, shielding her from harm when she had been targeted by a noble.

In return, she had agreed to marry him.

It was a bond born out of gratitude, not passion.

But fate was cruel. Even after she had agreed to marry him, he died early, falling on the battlefield.

She could never repay the debt she owed him.

The weight of that unfulfilled obligation remained with her, becoming an unshakable knot in her heart.

That was why she was so desperate to bring him back.

Out of gratitude. Out of duty.

Love? She had never truly experienced it.

In her mind, this was how her life would remain.

But—

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by lotustale.com