I won't fall for the queen who burned my world-Chapter 127: Will you come back?

Elysia moved with purpose through the orphanage, her steps light but filled with an unshakable determination.

With the false caretakers gone, the atmosphere was already shifting—the children no longer huddled in corners, no longer watched warily for reprimands that never came.

Instead, there was a sense of cautious hope, as if they were waiting to see if this change was real, or just another illusion that would be taken from them.

The cook, an older demon woman with deep-set wrinkles and sharp eyes, had been standing by, hesitant at first, clearly uncertain about what this shift in power meant for her position.

But when Malvoria gave a sharp nod and simply said, "Feed them properly." the cook had straightened her back, turned, and immediately set to work.

Soon, the scent of real food—not scraps, not watery porridge—began to fill the orphanage's halls.

Elysia, watching from the sidelines, smiled softly as the children's noses twitched, their little heads perking up at the unfamiliar aroma.

"It smells good," Kael whispered beside her, his golden eyes wide with anticipation.

"It does," Elysia agreed, ruffling his hair. "And you're going to eat until you're full."

Malvoria remained in the background, arms crossed, her sharp gaze missing nothing. She didn't move to help, didn't sit, didn't soften—but she watched.

Elysia had learned to recognize that about her. Malvoria was a woman of action when it came to battle, but in moments like this, she simply observed.

Not out of indifference, but calculation, as if filing away details for later, gauging what mattered, what didn't.

And here—watching the children, watching her—Malvoria was taking everything in.

The food was served.

Thick, hearty stew, steaming and fragrant, with chunks of real meat and fresh vegetables. Thick slices of warm bread, butter melting into the crust. Sweet roasted roots and fruit that made the children's eyes grow round with disbelief.

Elysia didn't just watch them eat—she joined them. She took a seat among the youngest, her presence a reassurance, a warmth among them.

It didn't take long before the first burst of laughter rang out.

She didn't even know who started it, but soon enough, the tension melted away, replaced by soft giggles and then full-bodied laughter.

The children, once cautious and quiet, were now eagerly talking between bites, telling her little stories, showing her bruised knees from playing too hard, boasting about how fast they could run or how high they could jump.

Malvoria still did not sit.

She stood in the shadows, leaning against the doorframe, watching. Always watching.

Elysia wasn't sure why she was watching so intently, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

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Kael, his cheeks full of bread, tugged at her sleeve.

"Will you come back?" His voice was small, hesitant, like he was bracing himself for the disappointment of a no.

Elysia exhaled softly, feeling the weight of his words settle in her chest.

She reached out, smoothing his dark hair back, offering him a smile. "Of course."

A simple promise.

A promise she would keep.

From her place at the doorway, Malvoria's jaw twitched.

Elysia didn't look at her, but she felt it—the shift in the air, the way Malvoria's attention seemed to narrow, sharpen.

The pang of something unreadable.

They didn't speak of it.

The children ate until they were full—truly full—for the first time in what must have been weeks, judging by the way they drowsed almost instantly afterward.

One by one, they curled up in blankets, some too tired to even make it to their rooms, some still smiling even as their eyes drooped closed.

Elysia stood near the doorway, taking in the sight of them, memorizing it.

They looked safe.

They looked... at peace.

And that should have been enough.

But it wasn't.

She could still see the too-thin wrists, the way some of them had hesitated before eating, as if expecting it to be snatched away.

It wasn't enough.

She would come back. She had to.

A quiet presence moved beside her.

Malvoria.

The Demon Queen's voice was low, meant for her ears alone.

"You care for them."

Elysia didn't glance at her. Her eyes remained on the children, her mind still replaying everything she had seen, everything she had felt in this place.

"And you don't?" she murmured.

Silence.

A long, measured silence.

Elysia finally turned her head to look at Malvoria, searching her expression.

Malvoria's face betrayed nothing. Her gray eyes were unreadable, her posture unwavering.

She did not answer.

The silence stretched between them, thick and unspoken, filled with things neither of them seemed willing to say.

Elysia didn't look away from Malvoria, searching for something—anything—that might give her an answer. But the Demon Queen's face remained impassive, unreadable, like a wall too high to scale.

But Elysia had seen the way she had acted today.

The way she had handled the situation without hesitation.

The way she had removed the caretakers without waiting for proof.

The way she had watched.

She felt things, whether she admitted it or not.

Malvoria shifted slightly, exhaling through her nose, her eyes flicking toward the sleeping children before returning to Elysia.

"If I didn't care, I wouldn't have built this place," she finally said, her voice quieter than usual. Not defensive, but firm.

Elysia didn't immediately respond.

She just turned back to the children, watching the slow rise and fall of their small chests as they slept, the way some of them had curled against each other, seeking warmth.

She wanted to believe that Malvoria cared.

And maybe—maybe she did.

But Malvoria wasn't the type to say it outright.

Still, Elysia found herself speaking, almost without thinking.

"You should visit more often," she murmured.

Malvoria let out a quiet, almost amused scoff.

"I'm not exactly the most welcoming figure for children," she said dryly.

Elysia rolled her eyes, though there was no real heat to it. "Then maybe if you stop looking like you're constantly thinking about murder, they wouldn't be so terrified of you."

Malvoria huffed a laugh, shaking her head. "I make no promises."

Elysia sighed, brushing a hand through her silver hair before casting one last glance at the children.

The air was cooler now, the sky outside darkening.

It was time to go.

Malvoria turned slightly, glancing toward the open door before looking back at her.

"We should go. It's already night."