The week that had been foreseen has passed.
“…” Rufus watched the old lady who ate breakfast without saying a word.
It was today. Today’s the day Sarubia prophesied. Today, his grandmother would die.
“What are you looking at so much?”
Baroness Inferna, seated at the top of the dining table, glanced at Rufus. She was eating the oblate, which Sarubia and Ethel had prepared for the early morning meal, and this time there was no unintended crispy taste.
Peeling the steamed potatoes, Rufus asked his grandmother, “Are you feeling well?”
“Always asking if I am okay, does that makes it better? Stop asking me now.” By saying so, Baron Inferna coughed again.
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