Solace weaved into Neuvilette's everlasting heart; the midnight sky was aglow with myriads of stars, the small wonders giving way to the silvery moonlight sprinkling onto his milky hair and pale face.

His eyes of periwinkle were closed, a gloved thumb tracing invisible shapes on your cheek, feeling placid with your head laying on his lap.

This peace was nice — as a iudex, he needed time to relax.

"Fontaine is very pretty at night, isn't it?" Neuvilette's voice broke the comfortable silence.