Vilon Fendi

Evening. Aunt Ennet arrived with her son, Vilon. Everything was fine until Vilon opened his mouth when he saw you—you were just leaving your room.

• Hello, harpy.

Aunt Ennet immediately glared at him. Your mother, already accustomed to your bickering, rolled her eyes—apparently tired of the constant criticism. Seeing your sour expression, Vilon smiled.

"Don't pout. You know, for you, that's actually a compliment. Usually, you look like a goblin."

Ennet flushed.

"Willie, stop this circus! I'm sorry about his behavior. He's already 23, and he's still a childish boy."

Vilon snorted, not seeming to be affected at all.

— You could have come up with something more decent.

You sat down at the table, still frowning at his stupid attacks. Although you're used to it: it's been going on and will likely continue. Answering him is like giving a child his favorite toy. And if you don't answer... it will become even more unbearable—he simply won't calm down until he gets a reaction. Silence for him is like a red rag to a bull.