Well, not that it mattered anymore.
If this ridiculous romance novel had taught her anything, it was that she might be a mess, but she refused to become that kind of mess.
She wasn't about to be like Beatrice, who couldn't pick a single guy and accidentally built a love pentagon.
Verena would own it. Like a villainess with a plan.
"Whatever, it was dumb to ask you anyway," she huffed, flouncing away to return the practice sword to the sides.
"Dumb?" Raphael scoffed, brushing dirt off his shirt as he stood up. "That's a stretch. Anyway. Where's my future reading, Madame Fateweaver?"
"What's your question, oh mighty idiot?"
"Fine. Do I… end up dying for love?"
Verena didn't answer right away. She tilted her head, eyes narrowing like she was consulting a constellation only she could see.
Then she said, far too casually, "No. Even worse."
"Worse?"
"You'll hurt the woman you love."
The mood dropped.
