152. A Fairy in Moonlight
Marcelline was still staring at the moon, lost in the dark puzzle of killing the Entity without letting a single innocent bleed, when—
A tiny ripple of warm air shimmered beside her.
Prrriing—
A soft bell-like sound.
Then suddenly—
A small glowing fairy appeared, wings fluttering like crystal petals.
She was barely the size of Marcelline's palm, dressed in a little silk leaf dress, hair floating like silver smoke.
"Lady Marcelline!" the fairy chirped, bowing so deep she almost fell mid-air.
Her voice was sweet, like someone ringing a glass chime.
Marcelline blinked, mildly startled but mostly amused.
"Oh? Hello, little one."
Her voice gentled automatically.
"What brings you here at this hour?"
The fairy straightened, wings buzzing.
"Godmother has requested your presence, my Lady! She wishes to meet you."
Marcelline's expression softened first… then sharpened with curiosity.
"Godmother?"
Her tone lowered.
"She rarely calls me unless it's important."
The fairy twirled nervously.
"Yes, yes! She said it was urgent, but—"
she wrung her tiny hands,
"—she did not tell me the reason, my Lady. I do not know anything!"
Marcelline hummed.
Of course.
Her Godmother never sent messages without purpose.
But right now, her mind was exhausted, her power drained from holding back the berserk seal.
She studied the fairy for a moment.
Then sighed.
"I'm tired today," she said gently.
"I'll visit her tomorrow morning."
The fairy bowed again so fast she blurred.
"As you wish, my Lady! Sleep well! Sweet dreams and glowing starlight!"
With a soft sprinkle of sparkles, she vanished into the night sky.
Marcelline exhaled, long and deep.
Not tonight.
She needed rest.
Her mind was still buzzing from the Entities she sensed.
She turned away from the balcony, the moon washing her back in silver light.
Her footsteps were soft as she walked through the hall—
quiet, peaceful, familiar.
She stopped at Sister Florence's door, lifting her hand to knock.
A tiny smile appeared on her lips.
"Time to tell her good night," she whispered to herself, pushing the door open gently.
Here you go — deeply emotional, maternal, soft, and intimate, showing exactly what Sister Florence means to Marcelline.
---
Sister Florence looked up the moment Marcelline stepped inside.
Her calm eyes softened instantly.
"Oh, sweetheart… you look tired."
Marcelline tried to smile.
"I'm fine, Maa."
Florence tilted her head.
"Don't lie. I raised you. I can see every shadow on your face."
That one sentence cracked something warm inside Marcelline.
She closed the door quietly and walked toward the bed—
each step slower, heavier, more honest.
Florence opened her arms without a word.
The same way she had done since Marcelline was a tiny toddler
—lost, scared, abandoned, hurt—
finding comfort in the soft robes and warm embrace of the only mother she'd ever known.
Marcelline sat first.
Then slowly, gently… she lowered her head onto Florence's lap.
Just like she used to when she was three.
Four.
Five.
Florence's fingers slipped into her hair, stroking carefully.
"You're carrying too much again," she whispered.
Marcelline closed her eyes.
Her entire body loosened at that touch, as if her bones finally remembered how to rest.
"I just needed a moment," she murmured.
Florence hummed softly.
"You always try to carry the world, little one."
Marcelline let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Being here—
with Florence's warmth beneath her cheek,
the rhythm of her heartbeat steady and gentle—
felt like stepping out of a storm into a safe home.
Florence lowered her hand, cupping Marcelline's cheek.
"My brave girl… what have you burdened yourself with now?"
Marcelline didn't answer.
Not because she didn't want to—
but because this was the only place where she allowed herself to stop pretending, stop fighting, stop being the strongest being alive.
Here… she was a daughter.
Just a daughter.
And Florence treated her exactly like that.
Without asking again, Florence shifted, pulling the 24-year-old woman fully into her arms.
As if she weighed nothing.
As if she was still her tiny little toddler wrapped in blankets.
She hugged her close, rubbing her back in slow circles.
"Rest," she whispered.
"I'm here."
Marcelline melted into her—
the world outside disappeared,
the weight of entities, seals, death, fate—
all of it vanished in the warmth of her Maa.
To everyone else, Marcelline was danger.
Power.
A beautiful weapon.
A devilish angel meant to shake realms.
But to Sister Florence?
She was the child who used to cling to her robes and fall asleep whenever storms scared her.
The only person Marcelline trusted without hesitation.
The only soul who never wanted anything from her.
Everyone else in the world looked at her with greed, fear, envy, need.
But Florence?
Florence loved her.
Truly.
Selflessly.
And that was why Marcelline would burn the world to ash if it ever harmed her.
Florence placed a kiss on her hair.
"My sweet girl… you've been fighting too long."
Marcelline's voice broke softly against her chest.
"I know."
"Then rest tonight. Let me hold you."
Marcelline curled closer, her hand gripping Florence's sleeve like a child clinging to her mother.
She whispered one truth she rarely allowed herself to feel:
"You're the only one who ever wanted good for me, Maa."
Florence smiled, full of warmth and sorrow.
"And you're the only child I ever needed."
Marcelline finally let go—
her breathing slowed, her body relaxed—
falling asleep in her mother's embrace,
forgetting every pain, every scar, every nightmare,
for one rare night.
Florence tightened her arms around her sleeping daughter, as if protecting her from the whole cruel world.
"My little angel," she whispered.
"Sleep. I will guard you."
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