As I walked past, I saw her standing before the mirror, turning in the dress. It didn’t fit her. The fabric pulled and folded in the wrong places.
She picked up a pair of scissors.
Without hesitation, she cut through the most detailed part of the hem, where the crystals were sewn.
"This design is outdated. It looks better this way," she said, pouting slightly.
The servant beside her glanced at me, uneasy, but said nothing.
I didn’t stop. I walked straight to the kitchen.
Damon had drunk a lot the night before. His body was not strong.
After drinking, his stomach would always hurt. He needed a special herbal soup to recover.
For seven winters, I had made it for him myself. I stood by the stove, watching the soup boil slowly in the clay pot.
But this would be the last time.
I poured the soup into a flask, placed it on a tray, and carried it toward his study.
The door was not fully closed. Voices came from inside.
It was Damon and his friend, Zyon.
I lifted my hand to knock, but stopped when I heard Zyon speak.