"We had escaped from our country with a lot of money at that time. Now I feel giving all the money to him wouldn't have mattered, but back then, we didn't think that way.
That money was enough to buy a country. My husband was willing to give them half, but they demanded it all."
The innkeeper's surprisingly remained calm as she reached this point, "In the end... The negotiations was broke down."
"He killed everyone, including my husband and my child. He spared no one—not even the child. Perhaps to him, children were no different from adults," the innkeeper's said softly, her fingers that was wrinkled with age, gently caressing Silvanoir's soft wings.
Silvanoir sat there obediently, like a cat.
"But he left me alone. He said to me, 'I've taken forty years of your life, but don't worry, you won't die of old age. When you've knitted enough sweaters to cover the Duskvale Plateau, you'll regain your youth.'"
