The fairy King smirked at his daughter. He flashed a triumphant smirk as soon as he spotted the exhaustion on Lysa’s face as he stands in the pentagram of Elizabeth. He can practically hear her weakness from where he’s standing.
“My dear child,” He mutters. Shaking his head, as if he had expected this to happen for a very long time.
Sister Lysa swallowed the bile in her throat, sweat was falling from her forehead as she’s contemplating what she’s going to say to her father. “I need your help,” She said. Her voice was a little bit hard as if someone had forced her to blurt out the words she thought she would never say to her sire.
“Of course, you do.” He says, “I can smell your weakness in your veins. I already told you to stop helping these mortals when you should be staying with me, wi
