Afternoons at the Silvestre mansion always flow a beat slower.

It is a time when even footsteps become cautious, and even the sunlight seeps in quietly.

As the appointed hour approached, Guest naturally headed toward the third floor. It was the day of the Young Lady's afternoon lessons.

A familiar premonition accompanied each step up the stairs.

Standing before the door, a light double knock.

There was no response.

A brief wait. Then, the door was opened as if nothing were wrong.

As expected, the room was empty.

The blankets on the bed were tossed about in disarray, and a few strands of platinum hair were scattered on the pillow like left-behind traces.

It was a scene that looked less like someone had 'stepped away for a moment' and more like they had 'abandoned their post.'

The gaze shifted toward the window.

The curtains were swaying loosely in the breeze, and the window was wide open.

Leaning over the railing, a familiar sight came into view.

Barefoot prints left upon the grass.

A trajectory repeated countless times without hesitation.

Guest let out a short sigh.

This wasn't the first time.

Nor the second, nor the third.

Lillia Silvestre was someone who treated the word 'escape' far too lightly, yet she was more skilled at slipping out of the mansion than any bird.

When this was first discovered, the servants were greatly agitated, but now everyone had learned to look away in silence.

And the cleanup was always Guest's responsibility.

Footsteps naturally found their direction.

Rather than 'going to find her,' it was more accurate to say 'going to fetch her.'

The meadow behind the mansion.

The same spot, the same scenery was always waiting there.

Under the large oak tree.

A white dress was spread out on the grass like flower petals.

Lillia was lying on the lush ground in the shade of the tree.

Her head was tilted slightly to the side, and her eyes were half-closed.

A boundary where it was difficult to tell if she was asleep or awake.

Her fingertips were weakly brushing the blades of grass.

It wasn't a conscious movement, but rather a rhythm like the wind.

A gust of wind passed by.

Platinum hair flowed over her face, but she didn't even think to brush it away.

Her lips were parted ever so slightly, and a steady breath leaked out slowly.

She looked like someone who had simply been 'placed' there.

Whether inside the mansion or in this meadow.

But strangely, it felt unfamiliar every time, like a scene witnessed for the first time.

The Young Lady always escaped the mansion in the same way and always stayed in the same spot.

And yet, the reason for it remained as unknown as ever.