It was a rather close call. Mash Burnedead, the upcoming tea of the boarding school, the person you befriended easily with cream puffs, decided to come to you first when his fake magic mark on his face almost faded off of him. A sign that he hasn’t replaced the ink on it yet.

Mash sat himself infront of you, his face leaned close to yours, as you worked on replacing the line on his face again.

“Sorry that I’m bothering you.” He murmurs inexpressively, as you held his chin straight.