Traitor

The godmother's house had an overall warm color palette.

The floor and ceiling were made of bright wood. The marble walls that contrasted with them added a nice accent to an interior that might otherwise have looked old.

It didn't look like she'd rushed to clean up. Nothing seemed out of place, so she probably wasn't the type to neglect cleaning in general.

In a corner, stacks of bottled water and tissues were piled up. On top of them sat a moon-shaped mood lamp, lit and scattering a pale glow in all directions as it softly brightened the room.

A wooden bookshelf stood against the wall. Packed tight with all sorts of autobiographies and general-interest books, it showed off a variety of shapes. There weren't many novels. The ones there were mostly famous works like Sherlock Holmes, Crime and Punishment, and The Metamorphosis.

She seemed to prefer reading itself over cultural pursuits.

Ian let out a low hum and slowly looked over the books on the shelf. Among them, he found one that seemed out of place.

The cover was ordinary. But it trembled slightly every time he looked at it, so it was clearly a grimoire. It was probably her Lemegeton.

‘Looks like she isn't any good at acting.’

Well, acting wasn't exactly an important virtue for a grimoire anyway. Ian let it go and flopped down on the sofa the godmother had shown him...