Cire’s house turned out to be a three-story mansion.

  Two broad-shouldered guards stood at the gate, their faces stern. But the moment they spotted Cire returning, their expressions softened. They greeted her with rexed smiles and exchanged a few casual words.

  Inside the entrance hall, several servants were waiting. They bowed so deeply and greeted us with such careful politeness that I almost felt guilty receiving it. The whole scene looked like something straight out of an anime or a manga, and I found myself shrinking a little.

  “Welcome home, Miss Cire,” one of them said. “And this must be your friend. Miss Cire has told us about you.”

  A tall, slender butler turned to me with a fwless, courteous smile. Unsure what to do, I returned a small, awkward smile of my own.

  Cire led me upstairs to her room on the second floor. I fell back onto the wide white bed—perfectly made, like something from a luxury hotel—and Cire flopped down beside me.

  The mattress was unbelievably soft, far better than the bed in the school infirmary. I joked that I wished I could take the bedding home with me.

  “You can, if you want,” Cire said easily.

  “I wouldn’t mind giving you anything.”

  “Oh no, I’m kidding!” I ughed. “Don’t take me seriously. But still… this house is incredible. I expected something fancy, but this is ten times more amazing than I imagined. Guards at the gate, a butler… I’ve only seen things like that in movies.”

  Cire gave a quiet ugh.

  “Sometimes it’s lonely, actually,” she said. “The house is so big. My parents spend most of the year away on business, so when I come home, I’m often here alone—like today. When I start feeling bored or uneasy, I end up chatting with the servants. Strange as it sounds, they’re easier to talk to than my parents.”

  She said it lightly, without any trace of bitterness, smiling as if it were nothing.

  Until then, I had secretly envied her—being famous, living in a mansion like this. But maybe people like Cire carried a kind of loneliness that ordinary people like me could never quite understand.

  Partway through our conversation, a maid entered the room carrying tea and madeleines. The warm, sweet smell of freshly baked cakes filled the air, blending with the delicate fragrance of the tea. My mouth watered instantly.

  We moved to the table, and just as I lifted my cup, Cire suddenly asked,

  “Have you ever read Wuthering Heights?”

  “Yes. Many times. I love that book. Why?”

  “I thought so. When I watched the py, I could tell you must know the original really well. Otherwise you couldn’t have become Catherine like that.”

  “I’ve always felt like Catherine and I are a little alike.”

  Cire tilted her head slightly.

  “I think I can see that,” she said. “Hey—what zodiac sign do you think Catherine would be?”

  “I’ve never thought about that before. What do you think?”

  “I like imagining the zodiac signs of fictional characters. Catherine is definitely a Scorpio. That intensity, that obsession… the way she’s self-destructive and full of contradictions. That’s pure Scorpio.”

  “What about Heathcliff?”

  “Hmm… Heathcliff is harder.”

  “I think he’s a Pisces. He looks like he’d have the eyes of a dead fish.”

  Cire burst out ughing.

  “That comparison is way too funny!”

  She doubled over, clutching her stomach as she ughed. I hadn’t expected to get along this well with someone I had only just met—let alone bond over Wuthering Heights.

  “But you might be right,” she said once she caught her breath. “Pisces actually fits him. I like that he’d be a water sign too, just like Catherine. Heathcliff feels emotionally unstable, and his inner world is so deep you can never quite reach it. He’s obsessive… and intensely emotional.”

  “What about Joseph?”

  “I have no idea about him.”

  Cire snorted, and I couldn’t help ughing too.

  For a while we stayed on the bed, turning it into a little game—guessing the zodiac signs of characters from cssic novels.

  “Do you want to see our library?” Cire asked suddenly.

  “You have a library?”

  “Yes. It’s my father’s hobby.”

  She led me downstairs to the basement. We passed a wine celr and a food storage room before arriving at the pce she called the library.

  The moment I saw it, I couldn’t help gasping softly.

  It looked less like a private study and more like an old-fashioned library. Mahogany bookshelves stretched across the room in every direction, filled with countless works of literature. I wandered slowly along them, taking my time to read the titles.

  Roman would have loved this pce, I thought for a moment.

  Then I quickly pushed the thought away.

  Moments like this made me realize how deeply the things I loved were tied to her.

  Cire reached into one of the shelves farther inside the room and pulled out an old book. The cover read The Complete Works of Oscar Wilde.

  “This one’s interesting,” she said.

  “I’m sorry… but I’m not really a fan of Wilde.”

  “I’m not a huge fan either,” Cire admitted with a shrug. “But there’s a short story in here I really want you to read. The Canterville Ghost. Here—borrow it. You can return it ter.”

  I was still feeling low after what had happened earlier with my sister. Even reading—something I usually loved—didn’t sound very appealing. But I couldn’t refuse my friend’s kindness. So I took the book and told her I would read it ter before giving it back.