"So... is it because Moli isn't pretty enough? Is it because Moli isn't as beautiful as Rafael, as Elliog, or as Paimon?"
"..."
In that instant, it seemed like a rootless fervor and flames erupted from the place where Moli sat, coursing upward through his meridians, attempting to ignite his soul.
The girl's confusion resembled the first piece of holiday toffee being savored vigorously, even as it clung stubbornly to one's teeth, unraveling a heart-stinging sweetness.
It made one impatiently desire to prove the absurdity of the doubt, to let the girl who posed the question understand her foolishness and inadequacy.
But upon reflection, perhaps it wasn't a question needing an answer at all, but a venting of frustration and discontent. She was too gentle to do anything too sharp and hurtful.
Fisher had to admit, Elliog's decision worked.
