The telltale click! of a door shut behind Alphonse Biron.

With practiced motions, the man quickly traversed the room, arriving again before his daughter. He had brought one of the magically enchanted lights closer and set it down on her nightstand.

"How does it look, Father?" she nervously asked, her words a bit slow and slurred from the lack of sensation.

Aryana was able to feel her face with her hands, yet that numbness was still persisting. While rid of the uneven, rough texture, she still hadn't been able to gaze upon the result herself. Alphonse held her chin gently, inspecting her lips, nose, ears—everything. The result left him incredulous.

"Flawless," he breathed quietly, "Like nothing ever happened."

Well, almost nothing. Save his daughter still being bald on half of her scalp, there wasn't a single scar remaining. The man was racking his brain for an explanation.

"Father, where did that woman come from? I observed her as much as I could, just like you instructed, but I've never felt or seen Healing magic like that before. It was ... strange."

Alphonse's brow narrowed, "Strange? Do you think it really was blood magic, then?"

After a long pause, Aryana shook her head.

"No, I don't think so. It was ... wasn't hot enough, like the Mana was empty? It felt like a thin ring of Mana was growing from the center of my cheek, then disappearing. I-I'm not sure, it just made me feel uneasy, not repulsed."

Aryana furrowed her brow, frustrated by the lack of words to describe the sensation. Her thoughts soon turned elsewhere.

"Uhm, can I have a mirror? There's one by my dresser."

With a motion, Alphonse grabbed the mirror and handed it to his daughter. Upon seeing herself, tears welled in her eyes. That only made the flow increase once she realized she could cry from both eyes freely again. She'd spent many nights alleviating the dryness in her blind eye with water and magic.

Aryana's fingertips gingerly touched her face, taking a moment to lose herself in the reflection before her. Her father was still in deep thought.

"W-Will I really have to regrow my hair again?" Aryana asked softly with the faintest bit of resignation. She knew such a concern paled in comparison to those she'd experienced from her injury.

Alphonse gave her a troubled smirk, before shrugging.

"Shall I ask her if she possesses magic for hair growth as well?" he asked with a small chuckle.

Aryana blushed, having realized the words that had crept out of her mouth. She knew it was a silly concern after everything that happened, but half of her head felt naked and chilly right now. Nothing else was said on the matter.

"How is your vision?" he asked with a more serious tone.

After holding her hand out at various distances, she murmured quietly, "It seems fine, but I'm having trouble focusing on things. I think I just need to get used to having both eyes again?"

Alphonse frowned. That certainly made some degree of sense.

"That's a relief," he sighed, "What a departure from all the other Healers that came. I'd thought to get answers once that woman arrived, but only questions have appeared."

Aryana looked at her father's serious face. She, too, felt a bit of resignation. As a mage devoted to Holy and Support-types of magic, being unable to see through magic cast directly on her made her feel quite inferior. It was shameful.

Alphonse muttered, "Perhaps I should still use that? If I'm right though, how should I handle the aftermath? To meet such a favor with suspicion and curiosity—what a hopeless host I am."

With a self-deprecating grin, the man shook his head and looked toward the door. Regardless of his decision, it wouldn't do to keep his guests waiting for too long.

----------------------------------------

Twenty minutes later, within the dining hall.

"Once again, I must thank you from the bottom of my heart."

Alphonse toasted a glass toward his benefactor, whose head barely rose above the table. Upon realizing this, a pillow was brought out to, ah ... elevate his guest to a fitting status. Quite so.

A small feast was laid out, including a bottle of wine and some herbal tea. Thanks to her newfound ability to smell once again, Rozalin was taking in the delectable fragrance of fried meats, vegetables, cheeses, and sauces. Had she bothered to make tear ducts, she would surely be weeping openly right now.

"I'm glad things worked out well," she replied with a nod.

Truthfully, she wanted nothing more than to dig into the feast before her. The bothersome concepts known as manners and moderation were currently plaguing her. The detestable invention known as silverware was aiding the impediment of ingesting this smorgasbord.

The slime woman thought quietly to herself, 'Ahh, I never thought I'd get to eat such well-prepared food any time soon. And to think, a metal fork. How nostalgic.'

This experience was nearly overshadowed by her pending access to the Biron estate's library. Nearly, but not quite.

It was unfortunate, but Alphonse's attention seemed to have latched onto Rozalin for one reason or another. She was careful to eat properly and simulate chewing and swallowing faithfully, but bothersome things were still bothersome. Not even Val had been able to divert his gaze for long.

As Rozalin lifted the tea cup to her lips and sipped it gently, she could only be astounded. A shock ran through her flesh as the tea ran down her throat.

"This is quite good!" she exclaimed. She'd never had tea that felt so invigorating. Perhaps it was a combination of high-quality tea and the scent that left such an impression? She couldn't be sure, but it reminded her of whenever she'd eaten magical creatures or objects.

Alphonse's brow twitched briefly, his mind going into overdrive. Has she realized what he'd done? This wasn't ... quite the reaction he'd expected. Far from it.

As Rozalin took another long sip and savored the flavor, Alphonse's mind was spiraling toward unknown paths. Truly, nothing had gone quite as he expected today.

The tea itself was, in fact, magical in nature. More precisely, it was brewed with a potent batch of Holy Water. Alphonse was prepared the moment the tea had touched his guest's lips for the aftermath, along with mentally running through numerous questions and scenarios. That tea should have burned, or at least stung quite a bit for any devil, demon, or the like.

While any ill-will had vanished, Alphonse still deeply desired the truth. What magics had this woman used to heal his daughter, when no one else had been able to? Who exactly was this mysterious stranger before him? What was the faint relationship she'd hinted at toward Castella?

Questions, questions, questions.

He continued to observe for any changes of demeanor but none surfaced. By the end of the dinner, he was quite exasperated. Either his friend Max had been entirely wrong, the woman was a shape-shifter, or a devil existed that ... enjoyed the taste of Holy Water. All three left him quite stumped.

For her part, Rozalin continued to eat rather happily, doing her best to keep up appearances and savor the flavor of such a delightful meal. She mentally made note to hire a chef in the future if possible, or at least look into acquiring better ingredients and food. This would require more money.

Alphonse was secretly deep in thought regarding his guest's identity, Rozalin was planning future financial acquisitions for food's sake, and Val continued to chat with Alphonse at every opportunity. Only Amalia was left to eat in relative silence, enjoying the food. She hadn't had such a high-quality meal in years. It was a bit nostalgic.

Upon sipping the tea Rozalin had praised so decidedly over the Link, Amalia could only stare at it thoughtfully. With a frown, she set the cup back onto the table and left it untouched the rest of the meal.

----------------------------------------

Not long after they'd finished their meal, the topic of the library inevitably came up. Alphonse spoke with Rozalin at length and gave her a personal escort through his estate to the wing wherein lay his trove of knowledge. Some instruction was required. There were several dozen books contained within that he could not share, but other than those select few, the vast majority remained open to the woman. While a modern library may have dwarfed this collection, there was still over a thousand books contained within.

Alphonse posted a guard with the woman to both assist and keep an eye on her. She nodded in understanding at the mention of this, as such a thing was only natural. The guard would accompany her for the duration of her visits and provide insight or deal with any simple requests she had. Another point of concern quickly arose.

"Mr. Biron, that is all fine and good, but I believe your guard will require relief sooner or later. I do not mean to be a bother, but I will likely be here for quite some time. Do keep in mind his well-being."

Alphonse found the suggestion reasonable, but it wasn't a problem for nearly any of his employees here to simply keep watch for an entire afternoon. With a short break or two, passing even the majority of daylight hours in the study wouldn't pose a problem. They were welcome to do some reading as well to alleviate the dullness.

"Your concern is well noted, but I believe Liam here will be quite alright," he stated confidently, motioning toward the man beside them.

For his part, the guard-knight Liam nodded and gave a small salute to his benefactor.

Rozalin was internally frowning at the arrangement, but figured she could soon lose herself in her studies and largely ignore the man. She'd already tried to be considerate, so she wouldn't hold back for this Liam fellow's sake.

"If you say so," was her flat reply.

Eyeing all the stocked shelves carefully, Rozalin motioned toward Alphonse.

"I'll be getting started then. Forgive the intrusion."

"Not at all, not at all."

Alphonse bowed toward the diminutive woman as she made her way toward the bookshelves, then nodded at Liam before setting off himself. He was still quite puzzled by this entire arrangement. He'd have to talk to Max and deliver the news, then bellyache a bit about his lack of understanding. What a queer woman this Rozalin was.

Books. Books, of all things!

On his way back, the young beastkin and elf that accompanied their 'Mistress' were still chatting in his foyer room, apparently ready to depart. He'd offered them lodging here for the night, but Amalia insisted she had some errands and planned to visit the Hendricksons for training. Valduin would be accompanying her.

Feeling a bit unsure still, Alphonse began chatting with the two. They didn't have any plans for a return visit at this time, but insisted that Rozalin would summon them when she was finished.

Their ability to seemingly speak over distances was most curious. Was it some sort of Spell? Alphonse could think of hundreds of practical applications for such a thing. He knew of magic tools that could do something similar, but they transmitted one's voice across the space, rather than directly to one person in secrecy.

Alphonse had sized both Amalia and Valduin up. He'd concluded the latter was a more recent addition and that the young beastkin was much closer to Rozalin. Hesitation to voice a question he'd had was lodged in his chest.

"Miss Amalia, your Mistress ... after what she's done for my daughter I do realize this is a bit silly, however, would she happen to have a means to regrow lost hair?"

Ah. Biron knew that such a concern was a childish, womanly fear. Aryana was still hesitant to appear in public. And what doting father would not wish to help his daughter's recovery? After all she'd been through, even if he had to lose a bit of face, he'd still desperately ask what needed asked.

Amalia looked at the man, stunned for just a moment. She shook her head before clearing her throat.

"Sir, it's probably better if you don't ask Rozalin that. As far as I know, she's never had to regrow someone's hair before. While I believe it is very possible she could, for your daughter's sake, I think it better she not become one of Rozalin's ... test subjects."

At that last utterance, the elf beside her shuddered. Even Amalia had an unpleasant look on her face as she eked those words out. Their reaction left Alphonse briefly baffled. He'd meant to inquire more, yet before he could, Val looked at Amalia then back at him. With a hint of confusion on her face, she gave him a small curtsy and thanked him for his hospitality, before turning toward the front door.

He was now alone with a young woman who was staring rather intently at him. He found her deliberate gaze most unusual.

"One more thing, Sir. I would suggest not putting anything else in Rozalin's tea. I can understand why you might be curious, but she truly does not mean you ill. Please trust her a bit more," she concluded with a polite bow.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Biron's brain froze, then quickly accelerated. Holy Water wasn't a poison that would be detected by any common Skills. The temperature would conceal the warmth of the Holy Mana contained within. The tea leaves would hide it further. While a priest or perhaps even a skilled Mage might be able to tell the difference, how had this girl? It should have been incredibly subtle. Had he said something wrong?

Years of practice, commanding soldiers, and politics had left Alphonse with an exceptional poker face.

He replied sincerely, "I'm not quite sure what you are referring to, Miss. I wouldn't dare do anything so insidious."

Amalia's green eyes were met by his feigned confusion. A small frown set upon her lips.

"I only mean to mediate and give friendly advice, Sir. You don't need to lie about this to me. I won't mention it to Rozalin, but I hope you can respect her privacy in the future. She has her reasons. Please don't push her too hard."

With a deep bow, the young woman gave him a salute before excusing herself a moment later. He thought to stop and ask her for clarification on several points but decided against it. How had she been so sure? Was he discovered somehow? It would have made far more sense if Rozalin had been the one to notice, being a mage herself.

Alphonse's thoughts became disordered. Truly, there was nothing worse than that feeling when you were on the cusp of finding an answer. After scanning numerous possibilities, he decided to change the premise and look at things another way. Instead of areas he might have slipped up, he tried to recall a way Amalia might have been the one to notice.

Beastkin do have rather sharp senses, though she is only half-blooded. Could be.

He mulled it over repeatedly. Then, he remembered something Maxwell had told him about his training together with Amalia. Between his boasting of the girl's sharp wit and talent, he'd begrudgingly mentioned an incident that occurred. Alphonse knew Max well. It had been quite a somber conversation, so the memory was relatively fresh.

Justiciar. Was that it?

Biron was a well-studied man. And yet, even he hadn't considered that possibility. Some Classes were a bit infamous for possessing certain Skills, dispositions, or requirements. Craftsman were a mundane example. Groups like the Paladin Order were explicitly famous for more than a few reasons, especially the mages. You did not want to be locked in the same room as an Inquisitor or Soul Seer.

But hadn't that girl very recently acquired her Class? At absolute best, she shouldn't be above level 12. Even from a numerical standpoint, that wasn't nearly high enough!

While unknowingly incorrect about one detail, one specific thing began to weigh Alphonse Biron's mind down. His already fair complexion paled a bit.

Curses! I'll have to be very careful what I say around her. No, if that's true, even being around her without preparations is a bit ...

His mouth twitched.

"Ah, what a farce I've put on," was all he could choke out. His shoulders slumped. He'd been so on guard toward Rozalin that he failed to consider her companions.

The pained smile on his face was full of nothing but derision and regret. He'd been seen through by a teenager. What's more, he still didn't have an answer to his initial question regarding Rozalin's identity. At this point, he could only wonder if all three members of their little group had some highly unusual Class, Skill, or use of one that defied common convention.

Worse still was the possibilty this conversation had been planned by Rozalin herself as a warning to him. Alphonse wasn't so naive to think Amalia didn't report such a detail back to her. If that truly were the case, Rozalin's subtlety and confidence was all the more frightening.

It was at this point that Alphonse Biron, Lord of the manor, accomplished soldier and politician, decided it best to retire to his chambers and forget about the whole afternoon. Some things were, perhaps, better left as a mystery.

----------------------------------------

Within the Biron study, a small figure was trying and failing to reach the upper bookshelf. Rozalin swore silently to herself.

"Screw! This! Damn! Form!"

She secretly watched the attendant she'd been assigned via her Domain. Normally, accessing such a height wouldn't be a problem. She bemoaned the fact that keeping up appearances was required. Rather than have the man named Liam fetch and return every tome she desired from the top shelf, a crate was soon acquired. This was enough of a boost to access the trove of knowledge at the summit.

Hours passed.

Rozalin studied maps of the world, the local geography, illustrations of the cities around Brita.

Hours more passed.

Rozalin read more about alchemy. She was deeply impressed with how far humankind had advanced the subject, while simultaneously bemoaning their short-sightedness in a select few areas.

Hours more passed.

A magic-infused light was acquired as she continued to devour more of the knowledge contained within. There was so much to read. She didn't have nearly enough time. A few days? Pah! She now regretted not asking for a week!

It was late at night when she realized the man named Liam was staring at her exasperatedly. Taking precious time to put down the book titled "Mercantile Law and Other Considerations", she pointedly turned to the man.

"What is it?"

She was doing her best to not get annoyed, but not even the most seasoned diplomat could call her tone polite.

"M-Ma'am, it's past the last bell. Are you nearly done for the night?"

Done? It hadn't even been 12 hours yet!

Rozalin paused. Now that she thought about it, she did recall Amalia wishing her goodnight just a short while ago on the Link. People tended to rise not long after the sun. Sleep was an unforgiving mistress to humans, no matter what world you went to.

She wanted to grind her fake teeth. This man's sleep schedule wasn't her problem. When a massive pile of work was before her, it was unwise to keep her from her toils.

"I'd planned to continue for at least another 15 hours before taking a short nap. Are you unable to continue?"

Her words were like a jab to the man's throat. He stared at her in bewilderment. She couldn't be serious, could she?

Sensing acceptance, or perhaps due to his lack of reply, she turned back toward the book within her hands. Liam could only hope he'd heard incorrectly. Wasn't this woman too unreasonable!? Did she not tire? Could she afford him no consideration?

Resigned, Liam sat numbly in the corner. Silently, he wished that she'd change or mind. Or perhaps she'd suddenly say, 'I was just kidding,' and retire? There was now no one on the staff who would stay up all night with this book fiend! They were all likely about to turn in for the night, assuming they hadn't already!

He was now deeply regretting not switching out with someone when he had the chance. Thus, the duty fell upon his shoulders. It was a heavy weight. Nearly as leaden as the burden his eyelids became five hours later.

Sitting in one of the study chairs, Liam could only slump over while attempting to remain conscious. Orders were orders. He'd already dozed off four times, jolting upward seconds later. He was filled with determination to at least see this through till the morn'.

It wasn't until an hour after sunrise that Alphonse Biron decided to patrol the hallways.

The tour quickly found him back at his study doors, wondering why he hadn't heard of Rozalin's departure the prior night. He was a bit preoccupied with work, Aryana, and sudden personal matters the evening prior. The last report was a brief check-in from Liam shortly after dinner. 'Nothing to note,' was the response.

Liam was quite capable, so he wasn't particularly worried, but he hadn't heard a peep since then. He'd half-assumed due to his observations, given Rozalin's relative unsociability, she had left with little notice and would return this morning. She didn't seem like one to put on airs or chat much, for better or worse. The posted guards had nothing to report this morning, and the defensive wards throughout the house stood fast. Business as usual.

It was only once Alphonse entered the study that he noticed something amiss.

Liam was slumped over in a corner desk and Rozalin was standing in front of a shelf, flipping nimbly through page after page. She closed the book and turned to him, then at Liam. There was a pause.

"Oh. Your employee passed out a couple hours ago. I didn't want to bother you for another given the time of night. Apologies."

Biron nodded mutely at the offered explanation, surveying the scene for any other irregularities. Other than light snoring, the room was quiet.

Alphonse coughed, "Have ... Ahem, have you been up all night?"

"Of course," she replied, tilting her head his way. Had her face been visible, he was quite certain a 'Isn't that obvious?' look would be plastered upon it.

Rozalin was mentally grumbling about the book in her hands. It was a handwritten tome and the font wasn't conducive to fluid reading. While she was preoccupied with her thoughts and the limited information she'd gathered from it, Biron cleared his throat again.

'Curious, was he developing a cold?' she pondered. Perhaps allergies.

"Would you like to have breakfast for a change of scenery?"

Rozalin looked at Alphonse, considering the offer. Time was limited and she was keen to pump as much knowledge into her Core as possible. Still, breaks were normally conducive to retention. It was common knowledge that overwork would affect quality. Just because physical and mental exhaustion had been noticeably reduced in her current body didn't mean her human mind had acquired quite the same resilience.

What's more, it seemed to be a subtle request from the man. As much as she loathed to admit, appearances were still essential to diplomatic relationships.

"... A short break may be in order. Shall we?"

With that, Rozalin began to let Alphonse lead her back through his residence. On the way they stopped briefly for Alphonse to give orders to one of the maids regarding Liam. She gave a curt nod.

'How professional. It seems Biron has good help in his staff,' mused Rozalin with an internal chuckle. She felt a bit nostalgic at having subordinates to coordinate on projects. Having Amalia and Val ... wasn't quite the same. Especially Val.

"Are you certain you don't wish to sleep? I can have a guest room prepared in short order."

"I prefer to launch myself headfirst into work when possible. Sleep can wait for a few days."

Alphonse's cheek twitched. A few days?

"While I find such dedication to anything quite impressive, please do take care of your health. If you need a few extra days to study, I'd rather arrange that than see you collapse," he replied.

"Not a problem. Thank you for your concern."

Rozalin felt quite relaxed after that piece of generous news. She had no intention to overstay her welcome or the terms, but perhaps if things got desperate she might take him up on that offer. She decided to continue friendly conversation and sate a bit of her curiosity.

"How is your daughter? I imagine her mood has improved since yesterday?"

Alphonse looked at the small woman walking beside him. He had a complicated grin.

"Indeed she has. I haven't seen her do much but sulk or cry in the past few months, so for her to be able to laugh again has soothed my heart tremendously. Now if only I could get her to come out of her room ..."

Hendrickson trailed off and finished with a sigh. Rozalin found his words strangely phrased.

"Why does she not leave her room?"

"Oh, that's ..." the man trailed off. His mind briefly went back to his conversation with young Amalia from the prior afternoon. A small gulp was let out from his throat.

'They say victory goes to the bold, eh?' he grimaced to himself, trying not to second guess his gut.

"It seems she's still a bit embarrassed at her missing hair predicament. I'd meant to speak with her today to try to encourage her. I don't suppose you have any magic tools or potions that might assist such an ... inconvenience?"

Rozalin paused. While she personally knew the struggles of lacking a head of hair, she could only ask what she felt was obvious.

"Why not just wear a wig until it grows out?"

Surely a man such as Biron could afford such a thing.

Biron unintentionally scoffed, "Those theater pieces made from horse and beast hair? That's ... No, no I don't think Aryana would go along with such an idea. Even the higher quality ones would look terrible on her."

Rozalin's Core shuddered for a moment—thought and reason halting. Biron's tone caused a strange vibe to crawl up her back.

"Do they ... do they not have wigs made from human hair?"

He looked at her with a bewildered look, "Human hair? Why in the heavens would they make such a thing? No, all the ones I'm aware of are made of coarse, poorly dyed animal hair. The majority of human hair isn't suitable or acquirable for such a thing, so far as I know. I doubt there is a market or good supply for such things."

Biron sighed deeply and began muttering to himself, "Still, that's an idea. Perhaps I can find a way to acquire finer hair or some sort of thread, then have it dyed a suitable shade of blonde. I'd have to hire a suitable craftsman or studio and it would likely take a few weeks."

It took only a moment, but Alphonse realized he'd stopped their walk and was now standing in place.

"Ah, apologies, Miss Rozalin. It seems I was lost in thought. Shall we continue?"

Completely unaware of Rozalin's inner turmoil, Alphonse slightly gestured with his hand. The slime woman was currently lamenting her own problem. She'd had certain expectations from her brief conversations with Amalia and Val about acquiring a wig. If what Biron was saying was true, didn't that mean acquiring natural-looking, silky black hair would be improbable? She would settle for a different color despite her preferences, but now the sinking suspicion that even becoming a brunette was outside her means.

She was being told she'd look like a stage actor or someone from medieval Parliament. Rozalin wanted to scream. Shouldn't people be a bit more vain and less practical!? What do you mean there wasn't a market for such a thing? How fucked up was this world? Gah!

She could only hold her head in disbelief.

"Miss Rozalin?"

"O-Oh? Uh," she looked at Alphonse, standing before her. His face was clearly asking what the matter was and if they could resume their stroll.

"I might ... have an idea or two on how to fix your daughter's hair. It could take a while. Perhaps we could discuss details and some form of compensation? I won't be picky."

There were definitely no ulterior motives behind Rozalin's sudden interest in the matter. Not a single one.

After all, wasn't helping out a potential business acquaintance with a trivial task at a steep discount favorable for the both of them? What's more, if she just so happened to learn a few things about the anatomy of constructing hair of her own, wasn't that a happy bonus? Though, it might take a few extra days in the Biron manor. She'd be willing to stay in the study rather than tie up a guest room for any valuable visitors the Birons might have.

It was quite courteous of her, in Rozalin's opinion. And surely a small monetary compensation was negligible when considering all the other details. Why, it sounded like she'd practically be saving him money when compared to a craftsman! How thrifty.

Of course, Alphonse was no mind reader. Nor could he read a covered face. And so, at face value, her words were a tremendous relief. While a bit worried, he'd gladly take the woman up on her offer.

Soon after, another deal was soon made between that two that left both parties feeling oddly satisfied and oblivious at the same time.

----------------------------------------

Rozalin had announced her plans to Amalia over the Link a few hours later. The beastkin girl's face paled as she realized her warning to Alphonse had apparently been fruitless. Amalia could only hope that Aryana had the mental fortitude to survive the encounter, and that Rozalin wouldn't muck anything up.

The upside on the matter was that Rozalin now had a perfect excuse to stay a few extra days. She hadn't expected the Biron library to have so many filled shelves. The additional time could serve her well, though she was a bit off put by having to deal with the Biron girl. She was also forced to 'take a trip to gather some salves and materials', which really just meant come up with some bullshit explanation for her methods.

She'd settled on putting Aryana to sleep and stated it would 'promote the growth process' while borrowing an explanation on how the human body repaired certain cells while asleep.

Yes, this was fine.

And so, on the fourth morning, Rozalin was immensely satisfied with how things were going at the estate. Not only had she acquired nearly everything she'd set out to and then some, she was no longer in such a rush. She'd warmed up to the Lord and Missus of the manor a bit. So much as someone as on-guard as her would allow in a few days, at least.

Over dinner, Rozalin told Alphonse of her loose intentions of starting her own business and explained she was studying the region and its economy. Alphonse had pointed out a few books for her to study. She was now pouring through a ledger of simplified imports and exports in the region. While deeply engrossed in her work, she quickly realized someone was standing within her Domain.

'Ah, perhaps I need to get more sleep,' she lamented. Even for her, over three days straight was a bit much.

She turned around, expecting to see either Alphonse, Liam, or one of the other guards she'd been introduced to recently. Instead, there was an older gentleman standing in what could only be described as a finely embroidered, jet-black robe. He had a set of half-rim glasses and a white beard down to his navel.

The man smiled, "Ah, apologies. I didn't mean to disturb you. I merely meant to kill some time while I wait for Lord Biron to fetch a few things. He mentioned a rather talented healer was holed up in his study, so I thought I'd take a peek."

He had a refined aura and calming, rich voice. Still, Rozalin wasn't particularly fond of strangers. Especially not when they snuck up on her.

"And you are?" she asked.

A brief hint of surprise and realization popped up on the man's face.

"It appears I left my manners at home! Do forgive the late introduction," he bowed, "Professor Grinwald Osleus, at your service."