Chapitre 9: 9. Until Next Time.
Aurora, with a cool and collected demeanor, countered Adrian's gentle probing with wit and playful challenges.
Their eyes spoke volumes, conveying an unspoken understanding that transcended spoken words. They savored the pastries, each bite accompanied by a delightful exchange, a silent dance of intellect and charm.
Just as they finished their treats, Aurora's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, a soft smile gracing her lips as she read the message. "From Mom," she murmured, her voice laced with a hint of fondness.
After a quick reply promising to be home in an hour, she turned back to Adrian, a hint of mischief momentarily clouding her cool facade.
"Until next time, Mr. Blackwood," she said, her voice a sweet melody.
Adrian, his heart skipping a beat at her unexpected departure, offered a charming smile.
"Until next time, Aurora," he replied, his voice spoke promise .
Aurora pulled into her driveway, the late-night quiet broken only by the crunch of gravel beneath her tires.
With a sigh, she eyed the warm glow emanating from a living room window. Her mother, was still up waiting. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, 11:30 pm blazed back in accusing red.
Slipping out of the car, Aurora winced at the ache in her feet, the punishment for a night spent teetering on stilettos.
Stepping inside, the soft glow of the television illuminated the living room.
Her mother, Daisy Emily Florence, dozed lightly on the sofa, a half-watched soap opera playing silently in the background.
A soft chuckle escaped Aurora's lips, a bittersweet sound. Mom already knew - of course she did. Aurora had mentioned attending a gala at the Museum earlier that evening, a perfectly plausible cover for the more clandestine events that had actually transpired.
Approaching her mother, Aurora's footsteps were muffled by the plush carpet.
Sensing a presence, Daisy's eyes fluttered open. "Aurora? You're back late, dear. Did the museum gala run long?" Her voice held a knowing edge, a question that wasn't quite a question.
Aurora knelt before her mother, taking her hand in hers. It was warm and comforting, a stark contrast to the cool night air.
"A little, Mom," she replied, offering a practiced smile that hopefully wouldn't betray the secrets simmering beneath its surface. "You should have gone to sleep. It's late."
Daisy squeezed her daughter's hand. "My precious girl, how can I sleep when you haven't come home yet?"
She studied Aurora's face, searching for any sign of fatigue. "Have you eaten? You must be starved."
"Yes, Mom, I had dinner with friends," Aurora replied, offering a reassuring smile.
"That's good," Daisy said, her voice laced with relief. "Alright, little dove, go freshen up. You must be tired from wearing those fancy shoes. Go quickly, I'll warm you up some milk."
Aurora felt a pang of guilt. Here she was, worried about keeping her secret life hidden, while her mother worried only about her well-being.
"You don't have to do that, Mom. I can boil the milk myself. Why don't you go to sleep? Dad must be tired too."
Daisy's smile held a hint of knowing. "Now, now, you know I can't sleep until I know you're settled in. Besides, your father wouldn't mind waiting a bit longer for his favorite girl."
Her eyes twinkled with a love that transcended time and worry. "Go on, freshen up, and then we can chat. Tell me all about your evening... or at least the parts you can share."
The last part was delivered with a wink, a silent understanding passing between them.
Aurora ascended the grand staircase, the plush carpet cushioning her tired steps. Her room, a sanctuary of understated luxury, reflected her personality.
The walls were adorned in a cool, calming shade of sage green, accented with hints of silver that shimmered in the moonlight filtering through the window.
Elegant yet comfortable furniture completed the picture, exuding a low-key opulence.
Reaching into a hidden pocket of her dress, she retrieved the Serpent's Eye.
The gem, a mesmerizing emerald capturing the essence of a serpent's gaze, seemed to hold a life of its own. With a practiced nonchalance, she placed it on the side table, its brilliance momentarily subdued in the soft moonlight.
The bathroom beckoned, and Aurora emerged a short while later, a vision of post-bath serenity. Her auburn hair, usually held in a sophisticated style, cascaded down her back in a cascade of damp curls, catching the moonlight like spun fire.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone