Edith and Lívia stayed like that for a few more moments—hands intertwined on the table, eyes locked on each other, the world of the Maison de Thé seeming to exist solely to stage that moment. The waiter passed by discreetly, collecting the empty cups without a word, as if he knew interrupting would be almost a crime.
It was Edith who broke the spell first, not out of a desire to end it, but to prolong it in another way.
— Shall we take a walk? — she asked softly, almost a whispered invitation.
— I don't want to let you go yet.
Lívia smiled slowly, that smile that started timid and ended dangerous.
— Neither do I.
They got up together. Edith left some silver coins on the table—more than necessary, as she always did when she wanted the gesture to go unnoticed. Lívia picked up the small witch's hat she had left hanging on the chair and set it aside at a provocative angle, letting a black strand fall over her right eye.
They walked out hand in hand. The afternoon had already turned to twilight in Châtelune. The sky was a deep amethyst, with the first stars appearing like shy little dots. The magical street lanterns lit themselves one by one, casting golden halos that danced over the wet stones. The air was cool, carrying the scent of night-blooming jasmine and the distant smell of fresh bread from some hidden bakery.
They walked aimlessly, steps slow and synchronized. Occasionally, one's hip brushed against the other's—a casual touch that was anything but casual. Lívia would tilt her head from time to time, letting her hair brush against Edith's shoulder; Edith responded by turning her face and lightly brushing her lips against Lívia's temple, not truly kissing, just marking territory with warm breath.
— Did you always know I watched you from the shop? — Lívia asked after a block, voice playful, yet tinged with genuine curiosity.
Edith gave a half-smile, adjusting her glasses with her middle finger—a habitual gesture Lívia was starting to find adorable.
— I knew someone was watching me — she replied. — But only when I realized it was you… then I started getting ready slower on purpose.
Lívia laughed softly, squeezing her hand.
— Naughty.
— You started it — Edith countered, keeping her calm tone. — Every time I walked past the display window, you'd polish that same amber bottle for a good three extra minutes than needed.
They turned onto a narrower street, lined with old gray stone buildings and tall windows with colored glass. The sound of their steps echoed softly, mingling with the distant song of a street musician playing a harp in some nearby square.
And then… the air shifted. A warm, dry breeze suddenly blew, carrying the scent of old parchment, melted wax, and something older—like someone had opened a door forgotten for centuries. The street lanterns flickered. Some went out for a second before returning, stronger, with flames now tinged blue.
Lívia stopped first.
— Edith…
Edith was already looking ahead, her blue eyes narrowing behind her lenses.
At the end of the street, where there had once been only a dead-end alley with a wall covered in ivy, something simply… existed.
A massive library appeared out of nowhere.
It didn't grow. It didn't materialize gradually. It was instant, as if the space had been torn and rewritten in a fraction of a second. Towering spires of black and ivory stone rose until they disappeared into the purple clouds of dusk. The façade was covered in golden runes that pulsed slowly, like breathing. Double doors of dark wood studded with bronze, so tall they seemed made for giants, stood ajar just enough to let warm, golden light spill onto the street like melted honey.
The ground before the entrance was no longer ordinary cobblestone—it was a mosaic of onyx and quartz, forming geometric patterns that seemed to move if looked at for too long.
Lívia squeezed Edith's hand tightly.
— This… wasn't here — she whispered, her voice a mix of awe and a hint of caution. — I walk down this street almost every day.
Edith adjusted her glasses slowly, eyes fixed on the colossal structure.
— It wasn't — she confirmed, calm, but with a spark of intellectual excitement in her gaze. — And now it is.
She stepped forward, pulling Lívia with her—not forcefully, but with that serene certainty that made anyone want to follow.
— Shall we go in? — she asked, turning her face to Lívia with a faint smile. — Together.
Lívia looked at the slightly open door, at the golden light that seemed to call them, then at Edith. A nervous laugh escaped her, mixed with pure curiosity.
— You're crazy, you know that?
Edith tilted her head, her smile widening just a little.
— And yet, you came with me anyway.
Hand in hand, fingers intertwined with renewed firmness, they crossed the threshold of the enormous library that shouldn't exist.
The door closed softly behind them—no sound, no effort. And the world outside… simply vanished.