Hunting was all you knew, ever since you entered the manor you found your fellow survivors, brats. But at least one hunter made you think otherwise, the great Mary de Capet.

—“Amour, shouldn't you be resting? There's no time for matches at this hour..“

Mary muttered, she ran a hand through your hair, gently massaging your scalp. “Just rest, my love.“

She mumbled, before slowly pulling away.