Wentworth gazed at the delicate paper crane in his hand, a treasured keepsake he had held onto for so long. His eyes darkened as he murmured softly after a long pause:
"It's beautiful."
At the same time, the memory of his first encounter with Cassandra played vividly in his mind.
A slender girl with golden curls walked toward him with graceful steps. What stood out the most were her striking emerald-green eyes.
"Miss Cassandra! This is our shop's latest product. While it may appear to be an ordinary paper crane, it allows for long-distance communication through dreams! Before long, our enchanted cranes might even replace owls!"
"Do you think I'm the kind of girl who enjoys playing with dolls and folding paper cranes?!"
"Miss Cassandra, once the crane leaves your hand and lands in someone else's, it activates. From then on, no matter what this young gentleman writes on the crane's surface, you will see it in your dreams while you sleep."
Recalling this, Wentworth hesitated no more. He placed the paper crane on the table before him and, with a feather quill in hand, began to write carefully on its delicate surface.
That same night, in the outskirts of London, within the grand estate of the Lestrange family, Cassandra lay restless in her bed. She tossed and turned until, finally, in the deep hours of the night, she drifted into slumber.
Had anyone entered her room at that moment, they would have seen a sleek, high-end broomstick propped beside her bed. Yet, despite her peaceful exterior, faint tear stains lingered at the corners of her eyes.
In her dreams, Cassandra found herself in an unusual vision. A massive paper crane soared across the sky before gently landing beside her.
On one side of the crane's body, two illustrations had been drawn.
The first depicted the grand entrance of an estate. Inside the gates, a lone figure was seen walking further into the grounds.
The second image was of the same entrance, but this time, a broomstick rested by the gate, and the silhouette of a person seemed to be walking away from the estate.
When Cassandra awoke abruptly from her dream, the faint light of dawn had already begun to seep through her window. Birds chirped softly in the early morning air.
Her drowsy eyes widened as she recalled every detail of the dream. A wry smile curled at her lips as she muttered to herself:
"Wentworth? Wentworth Grindelwald... Are you merely suspicious, or have you truly uncovered everything? Is this the power of the Pureblood Party's leader?"
As Cassandra fell into a contemplative silence, the door to her room swung open. Standing before her was a face she had come to dread—a visage that had haunted her nightmares.
Christine stepped forward unhurriedly, gazing down at Cassandra, who was still lying in bed.
"Miss Cassandra, I must say, you have remarkable composure. Tomorrow is such an important day, yet you managed to sleep at all? But it's getting late—shall we have breakfast together? After all, as of now, you are the mistress of this estate."
Expressionless, Cassandra rose from her bed, revealing an elegant silk nightgown. Without hesitation, she changed into her usual athletic attire in Christine's presence.
Christine frowned slightly, suspicion creeping into her gaze.
"Surely, you don't intend to have breakfast dressed like that? That's hardly befitting of a noblewoman."
Cassandra shook her head. "No. I simply have no appetite. I thought I'd train a little first."
With that, she grabbed the broomstick by her bedside and strode out.
Christine hesitated for a moment before following her out onto the estate's lawn.
Cassandra mounted the sleek broomstick and soared effortlessly into the sky above her family's estate, gliding and weaving through the air.
Christine remained below, her sharp eyes never leaving Cassandra—watching her every move as if she were a prisoner under surveillance.
After a while, Cassandra descended and landed smoothly on the ground. Looking directly at Christine, she asked:
"What? Are you afraid I'll abandon my father and escape on my own?"
Christine let out a hearty laugh, her tone light yet laced with hidden intent.
"Not at all, Miss Cassandra. You misunderstand. I am merely concerned for your safety. I am here to protect you."
A flicker of disgust crossed Cassandra's face. She dismounted and, in a fit of frustration, flung her broomstick carelessly to the side, letting it rest against the fence near the estate's entrance.
With an air of defiance, she stormed toward the manor, muttering:
"How dull. Don't worry—I have no intention of abandoning my father."
As she passed Christine, she caught sight of something in the corner of her vision—Christine's eyes lingering on the broomstick she had left by the gate.
A chill ran through Cassandra's heart, but she did not break her stride. Instead, she continued walking and said in an offhand manner:
"The weather is nice today. I think I'll hang some clothes out to dry."
As expected, Christine's attention snapped back to her.
"I suggest you behave yourself! What do you need to hang clothes for? Are you trying to send a message to someone?!"
Christine's paranoia flared, and she suddenly grabbed Cassandra's shoulders, yanking her closer.
Cassandra winced in pain but held her ground, frowning.
"Why so nervous? Do you really think I have any means of contacting the outside world? It's just some laundry—why must everything be a secret code to you?"
Christine locked eyes with her for a long moment before finally releasing her grip. Her voice, haughty and commanding, carried a thinly veiled threat:
"I advise you not to do anything unnecessary. For the next couple of days, just stay in your room and behave."
A smirk ghosted across Cassandra's lips, her tone edged with mockery.
"Christine, you seem more anxious than I am. The banquet is tomorrow, and yet you're already so restless."
"This plan was crafted by your people, yet I see fear in your eyes. What are you so afraid of?"
Christine's expression darkened. She abruptly raised her right hand, as if about to strike Cassandra—but at the last moment, she stopped herself.
"Cassandra, I suggest you stop provoking me. It won't end well for you."
With that, Christine turned on her heel and strode away, leaving Cassandra standing in the morning light, watching her retreating figure with a calculating gaze.
-----------------------
Want to read ahead of schedule?
Join here for advance chapters: PATREON.COM / PRIMALDEMON