Hansel’s Enchanted Fairytale: Fill Me Up With Magic! - Chapter 52
The damp sensation brushing against her sensitive skin made the fine hairs on Hansel’s nape stand on end. Her eyelids fluttered uncontrollably.
Hansel gripped Dante’s collar with an indecisive hand, neither pulling him closer nor pushing him away.
“I really don’t think I can… not today…”
Her lower body, still tender from the indulgence of the previous night, already twitched at the memory. Her overworked hips ached. She couldn’t decide whose desires she should prioritize: his or hers.
Meanwhile, Dante withdrew his lips, retreating from her. He licked his lips lightly as he gazed intently at Hansel.
“Alright.”
Dante straightened his back smoothly.
“I won’t do anything.”
“Oh. Really…?”
“Your lower part hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Well… yes, it does…”
Dante seemed genuinely committed to not laying a finger on her. Hansel felt a mixture of relief and faint disappointment. She swung her legs idly from her perch on the counter, her expression uncertain.
Dante reached out and gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear with his fingertips.
“I’ll do as you said.”
“…What did I say?”
“You told me to be gentle, to treasure you.”
Hansel froze.
Dante’s typically stoic expression appeared relaxed, softened. His gaze was as tender as if he were holding something precious.
But that wasn’t meant to apply to me…
It felt as though a butterfly had landed delicately on her chest, a ticklish and inexplicable sensation. It was as if a feather were teasing the edges of her heart. Hansel did her best to ignore it, quickly steering the conversation elsewhere.
She wasn’t ready to confront the nature of those feelings. Fear overshadowed curiosity.
“Come to think of it…”
Hansel slowly scanned the kitchen.
“Why didn’t you decorate this place as brightly as the rest of the house?”
Compared to the rest of the gingerbread house, the kitchen’s decor was strikingly different. The dining room was in pastel tones, and the living room—if she recalled correctly—had a whimsical, childlike charm.
But the kitchen was stark in contrast: spacious but built with gray stone walls, unimaginable for a gingerbread house. Iron pots, a stone oven, wooden shelves, and a plain stone floor—it resembled the kitchen of a noble or a mage’s mansion.
“It’s not mine.”
“This is your house. How is it not yours? Then whose is it?”
“The woman who gave birth to me.”
“……”
Hansel thought she was used to Dante’s detached tone by now, but it still caught her off guard. His dry, matter-of-fact delivery left little room for response.
Dante continued as if it were nothing of importance.
“The kitchen and the sewing room were hers.”
Hansel frowned slightly, pondering his words. Preserving a deceased mother’s room as a kitchen or sewing room was… unusual.
What need would a mother have for a kitchen or a sewing room? Typically, one might preserve a bedroom, a studio, or perhaps a music room. At the very least, a dressing room would make more sense than a sewing room.
A woman who spent time in the kitchen or sewing room… that sounded more like a servant.
“Your father was a mage, wasn’t he?”
“Yes.”
A mage father and a servant mother?
“……”
Hansel fell silent. It was hard to imagine that a mage and a mere servant could have had a proper marriage.
If the mother had even a trace of magical talent, that might have been different. But for a completely ordinary human like Dante’s mother, it was unlikely the family would have tolerated such a union, no matter how genuine their love was.
Was Dante an illegitimate child of a mage? Or had his parents eloped, only to be hunted down by his father’s family? Either way, it was clear why Dante would harbor hatred for mages.
Hatred deep enough that he might take her life the moment her identity was revealed. She didn’t need to ask directly—her assumptions already painted a clear picture.
“……”
The thought left her exhausted.
Dante was simple. He never offered veiled hints or spoke indirectly. Not because he was withholding information, but because he simply didn’t know how. If she asked, he would answer honestly, more straightforwardly than anyone else.
But she had lied to him so many times that the thought of asking him directly now was unbearable. This was the weight of her deceit.
How could she tiptoe around her own lies and still ask him about himself?
“Hey, Dante.”
Dante flinched slightly, his shoulders twitching. He always had a noticeable reaction when his name was called.
Hansel met his gaze cautiously, choosing her words carefully. She needed to phrase this delicately, safely.
“Tell me about yourself. What you like, what you dislike… and maybe a bit about magic too?”
“Why?”
Dante tilted his head slightly, his expression flat.
“Because I want to talk with you. I don’t have any memories, so I can’t share much about myself. I thought it’d be nice to hear about you instead.”
“You don’t remember, but you seem to know a lot.”
Dante’s curiosity was evident. Why was she trying so hard to learn more about him?
Caught off guard by his question, Hansel hesitated before retreating slightly, metaphorically lowering her tail.
