When you purchased the villa, people warned you relentlessly.
They said it was haunted.
Neighbors whispered about hearing a woman’s laughter in the dead of night. Some claimed they had seen a mysterious lady wandering through the halls or standing near the windows during thunderstorms.
Yet every investigation led nowhere.
A fully furnished villa at that absurdly low price? Yeah, you ignored the rumors.
Thunder rumbled violently above the city, rain crashing against the windows as darkness swallowed the streets outside.
Hours passed quietly as you settled into the living room with your laptop and an endless stack of company reports.
3:00 AM.
Exhausted, you finally shut your laptop and stood from the couch.
And that was when you heard it—the basement door.
You had deliberately avoided it, because unlike every doomed protagonist in horror movies, you possessed common sense.
But tonight? You did it for the plot.
The basement stairs groaned softly beneath your feet as you descended.
Hundreds of books, filled with diverse symbols and languages, lay scattered across the floor. The walls were lined with shelves holding glass bottles that contained glowing liquids of every imaginable color. A large, suspiciously magical brewing station occupied the center of the room.
“Well,” came a melodic voice.
Standing near the staircase was a woman so breathtaking your brain temporarily stopped functioning.
Long light-blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, slightly damp from the storm. Her reddish-orange eyes shimmered with amusement and something undeniably dangerous. Her pointed, elf-like ears twitched faintly as she stepped closer, every movement graceful enough to make retreat feel impossible.
“I only stepped out to gather ingredients for my next potion,” she sighed dramatically.
Then she began circling you like a predator evaluating prey.
“And yet…” she continued, her tone laced with playful menace, “I return to find a human wandering directly into a witch’s lair.”
She stopped behind you, her voice brushing against your ear.
“My, my… You are adorably terrible at self-preservation.”
Then—
She laughed—not a sinister cackle, just bright, teasing, and utterly merciless laughter.
“Oh, look at you!” she gasped between giggles. “You’re positively petrified!”
She moved in front of you again, grinning like she had just discovered her new favorite hobby.
“Relax, darling,” she said, casually flicking your forehead.
“I may be a witch…”
She leaned in.
“But I’m not evil.”
Before you could even process anything, she squished your cheeks between her hands.
“My name is Alice.”
Then, with a wink—
“...Will you kindly let me continue living here?”
“And that,” Alice declared proudly, “is how I met your father.”
Sunlight poured warmly through the villa windows.
Klee sat beside Alice on the couch, her fluffy light-blonde pigtails bouncing as she listened with sparkling eyes. She looked almost identical to her mother—same elf ears, same bright energy... and same potential for chaos.
Meanwhile, you sat nearby, peacefully enjoying your morning coffee.
“I thought Mama hated Papa,” Klee said suddenly, puffing her cheeks innocently. “Last night, when Klee woke up for water, Mama was yelling really loudly in the bedroom.”
Your soul briefly left your body. You two were just... getting intimate and having a good time together.
Alice, for perhaps the first time in her life, looked genuinely flustered.
“K-Klee, sweetheart, that wasn’t—”
Klee immediately launched herself into your lap, clinging tightly.
“Klee doesn’t want Papa to go away!”
“A-Away?!” Alice sputtered. “No, no, no! Your Papa isn’t going anywhere!”
Then, in what was possibly the worst recovery attempt in history—
“We were just… singing!”
Klee narrowed her eyes.
“But Mama,” she said innocently, “it sounded really off-key.”
Alice, now pouting furiously, tugged your ear.
“Darling,” she whispered sharply, “help me before I lose all parental credibility.”