Chapter 8

Isabella's POV

I hesitate, but still walk over and open the door. The night breeze outside is a bit cool, carrying a faint dampness.

The child is about five years old, wearing a slightly oversized dark hoodie, a bulging backpack on his back. His clothes are a bit dirty, but good quality fabric, the backpack also a name brand. He looks tired and tense, eyes somewhat red and swollen, as if he's just been crying.

"Hello," I lower my stance, soften my tone. "The bookstore is about to close."

"I'm sorry." He says softly, voice trembling slightly. "I... I saw there was still light inside, so..."

He looks up at me, eyes moist but alert.

"What's wrong?" I can't help asking gently. "Are you lost?"

He nods hard, tears welling in his eyes. "I can't find my way home. My phone died, can't contact my family."

He really does look like just a child separated from adults. The wariness in my heart raised by Marcus unconsciously eases somewhat in front of these eyes.

"Come in." I step aside, making way at the entrance. "Sit down and rest for a bit, I'll help you figure out how to contact your family."

"Thank you." He says politely, walking into the store. His gaze carefully turns around the bookshelves, and when he sees the rows of books, his eyes noticeably brighten.

I pour him a cup of warm water, place it on the small round table.

"What's your name?" I sit across from him.

"Dominic." He holds the cup, answers quietly.

"Dominic, where is your home? Do you remember your parents' or other family members' phone numbers?" I try to keep the questions simple.

"I..." He hesitates. "I remember my uncle's number, but my phone died."

"No problem, you can use mine." I hand him my phone. "You dial, or tell me, I'll help you call."

He takes the phone but doesn't press keys immediately, instead looks up at me, as if confirming something.

"Starlight," he suddenly calls me this, voice very soft but certain. "Do you like books?"

This address catches me off guard.

Starlight—starlight?

"Of course I like them." I say. "Otherwise I wouldn't run this bookstore."

"I like books too." Dominic's expression finally softens a bit. "Uncle says books are the best friends. They won't lie to you, and they won't leave."

"Your uncle is very right." I can't help smiling. "Which book do you like best?"

"The Little Prince." He answers quickly. "Uncle often reads it to me. He says this book teaches us the meaning of 'taming'—establishing connections, taking responsibility."

He pauses, looks up at me.

"Starlight, what do you think 'taming' means?"

My heart jumps sharply.

This question, Marcus asked me too.

That day in the store, he held The Little Prince, smiling and asking: "Isabella, what do you think 'taming' means?"

And my answer then was: "Establishing connections, making each other unique."

I believed those words then. Now, I'm not sure I still do.

"I think," I say slowly, "'taming' is a choice. You choose to care about someone, and also choose to let them care about you, then you have to be responsible for that caring. It should be mutual."

Dominic nods seriously. "Uncle says that too. He says 'taming' isn't control, it's companionship."

"Then your uncle understands The Little Prince well." I say. "He must love you very much."

"Mm." Dominic's eyes dim for a moment, quickly suppressed. "Uncle says I'm the most important person to him. So he has to protect me, not let me get hurt."

His tone when saying this is too serious, not like a five-year-old child.

I don't press further, just gently pat his shoulder. He looks up, eyes brightening a bit more.

"Starlight," he suddenly asks, "what kind of person do you want to be?"

This question makes me pause. It's been a long time since anyone asked me so directly.

What kind of person do I want to be?

I think for a moment, suddenly feel like smiling.

"You know what, Dominic, I want to be a witch." I say.

His eyes immediately widen, with childlike excitement. "A witch? Like in fairy tales?"

"Yes." I nod. "A witch living alone in the forest. Just brewing potions all day. When I'm happy, I brew potions in the sunshine. When I'm unhappy, I curse while brewing potions."

Dominic giggles, that laughter particularly clear in the quiet bookstore.

"Then can you do magic?" he asks.

"Of course." I go along with his imagination. "On sunny days, I'll turn myself into a mushroom, hiding under big trees for shade. When it rains, I'll conjure a circle of cacti to bounce all the rainwater away."

"Then..." His laughter gradually stops, voice suddenly lowering. "Then would you use magic to hurt people?"

I look at him, suddenly realizing this might not just be a question in a game for him.

"Yes." I say softly. "If someone breaks into my forest and tries to hurt me, I'll poison them with my potions. Because that's my forest, I make the rules."

Dominic is quiet for a while, blinks seriously, then slowly nods.

"I like your forest, Starlight." He says. "It sounds... very safe."

Very safe.

A five-year-old child, the first definition he gives to his imagined "ideal place" is "safe."

My heart feels like something gently tugged at it.

"Dominic," I hesitate before speaking. "Are you... not very happy with your current life?"

He looks down at the paper cup in his hands, gripping tight, then loosening.

"I don't know." He says quietly. "Uncle is very good to me. But... sometimes I'm scared."

"Scared of what?"

"Scared of those people who come to find uncle." He bites his lip. "They all look very scary. And sometimes uncle goes out for a very long time, when I'm home alone, I worry he won't come back."

I feel a dull ache. His tone carries no complaint, only a forced mature habituation.

"But bookstores are different." He suddenly looks up, showing me a somewhat shy smile. "Bookstores are warm, just like the forest you described, very safe."

I reach out to ruffle his hair. "Then call your uncle first," I say. "He must be very worried about you."

"Okay." He looks at the phone, hesitates, still presses the number.

The phone rings three times before being answered.

"Hello?" A deep male voice comes through the receiver.

"Uncle..." Dominic's voice immediately becomes cautious. "I'm sorry, I... I got lost."

The other end is silent for two seconds.

"Where are you?" That voice asks, no reproach, but an unquestionable commanding quality.

Dominic turns to look at me. "Starlight, where is this?"

"Haven Books," I say, "Maple District, 42 Elm Street."

He repeats the address to the phone.

"Stay there, don't move." The man on the phone says. "I'll be right there."

The call ends abruptly.

Dominic returns my phone, says quietly: "Uncle says he'll be here soon. Thank you, Starlight."

"You're welcome." I put the phone back on the counter. "He sounds very worried."

"Mm." Dominic nods, then asks somewhat embarrassedly, "Before he comes, can I... look at books?"

"Of course." I say with a smile.

He stands up, walks toward the children's book section. His small figure weaves between the shelves, fingers lightly tracing row after row of spines, movements so careful as if touching porcelain. Finally, he pulls out The Little Prince, carefully opens it.

"'All grown-ups were once children... although few of them remember it.'" He softly reads the first line, finishes, looks up at me with a bit of pride. "Uncle says this is said to those people who forgot being children."

I walk over, crouch beside him. "You really love this book."

"Mm." He nods. "Uncle says this book taught him a lot. He says the little prince tamed the fox, so the fox became unique. But the little prince was also tamed by the rose, so he had to be responsible for the rose."

He closes the book, looks at me, asks seriously:

"Starlight, have you ever been 'tamed' by someone?"

My throat tightens.

Have I?

Marcus once said he was "tamed" by me, said I made his world no longer as hollow as before. But thinking about it now, maybe from start to finish, he never truly allowed himself to be tamed by anyone.

"I'm not sure." I finally say. "Maybe I thought I had, but actually hadn't."

Dominic nods thoughtfully, opens the book again.

"'It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.'" He reads to me. "Starlight, who is your rose?"

The air suddenly freezes for a moment.

My rose...

"I don't know." I say very softly. "Maybe I haven't found it yet. Or maybe I should first return to my forest, brew potions alone."

Dominic looks up, brow furrowing into a small knot. "But Starlight, wouldn't a witch alone be very lonely?"

This sentence is like a small hand, gently pushing that door in my heart.

"Yes." I admit. "But at least in her own forest, she can be herself. She doesn't have to always guess whether others are telling the truth, doesn't have to constantly worry about being hurt."

"Then..." Dominic thinks seriously. "If one day, someone wanted to enter your forest? Someone who wouldn't hurt you."

I look at his gaze, too solemn for his age, my heart aching.

"Then I'd consider it." I say. "But the prerequisite is, they'd have to first prove they're worth trusting."

"Mm." Dominic nods very hard. "Uncle says trust is the most precious thing. Lose it once, and it's very hard to get back."

After that, we don't say much more. Dominic occasionally reads a few lines from the book, and I just quietly listen. The bookstore is left with only the sound of turning pages and mottled light and shadow cast through the glass by streetlamps.

About ten minutes later, a low engine sound rings outside the door, steady and rhythmic.

I stand up, look toward the entrance. A black SUV has just stopped in front of the bookstore.

The car door opens, a tall figure steps out.

Under the streetlight, I see his face clearly—

Stern features, sharply defined lines, green eyes reflecting an almost metallic light in the lamplight. The sharply tailored black suit makes his entire presence even more cold and hard, like a sharp rock cut from the night.

He strides toward the bookstore, each step steady and imposing.

He pushes open the door, the bell ringing crisply.