Michael turned somber at the little girl's macabre confession.
For a second, he was remorseful of his cavalier attitude. It was just a small favor! What a contemptible man he was if he didn't feel even a small pittance of pity for her.
But in the next moment, all those emotions were washed down the toilet.
"...really? I can see you doing a handstand right now."
He saw the mana outline of her body through the wooden door, and she didn't look the part of a sickly, gaunt, and dying little girl.
She propped herself up using her hands, with her feet vigorously kicking and dangling in the air. He could even see her making faces at him through the door, that lying brat.
"Eh?! How can you see me?! Is this the human magic that Farren keeps telling me about?"
Michael crossed his arms, indignant. "I'm not talking to a liar."
"Well, I'm not a liar. I'm Lyra."
He shook his head, exhausted at dealing with a boisterous, lying, glib tongued brat.
