[ Even though Sylvain is only implying it and Hilda can think of nothing more embarrassing than being called a miracle worker (she'd reserve that for people like Marianne or Mercedes), his earnestness and hint of that smile at the corner of her lips surprises her and funnily enough, acts like a bit of a balm. They soften her heart and the burn of her cheeks just enough that she feels composed enough to cast him a side long glance with an added sheepish twist of her lips. ]

Oh Goddess, please don't call me that. There will be absolutely no more kisses for you ever again if you do.

[ She tries to sound stern and say it with some level of conviction; she loved kisses but she can only take so much flattery before she caves under it all. You would have thought having Holst as an adoring big brother would prepare her for this, but apparently not.

A heaved thought flutters from her lips. ]

What am I going to do with you, Sylvain?