"Don't scare her, headmaster," Layla deadpanned whilst spinning around. "We don't know for certain. Our potion is not done yet."
Potion? Ophelia's head snapped to Layla who held a scalpel in one hand and blood on her white lab coat. Her throat tightened at the nauseating scent in the air.
"I heard from Layla you were reading books written in the old language," Reagan murmured. "The words on there are language of the gods. Even the most trained magicians struggle to understand it."
Ophelia slowly blinked. She could see how unnatural this situation was. "I-I was never e-educated on the language. I-I was just looking over it, I don't—"
Reagan gave her a pointed look, as if he saw through her excuses.
Ophelia clamped her mouth shut. "I-I didn't mean to read it, I was just mouthing it without realizing it."
"Direct Descendants of the moon do not have to be taught the language of the gods, for it is their native tongue," Reagan told her.
