Morielle woke late the following morning. Her eyes were puffy when she looked in the moisture-hazed mirror after taking a shower—a magic-installed one—and change into a casual blue robe, which she always wore inside their residence, paired with black flat sandals. Her hair was put into a neat bun, which she always did when Seliz was not around to assist her with it. Usually, Seliz would take care more of making her look presentable especially when she would go out.
When she came downstairs to join her father at the dining hall, he stared at her with those beige eyes of his.
“You were crying again,” he observed. His food, grilled meat and vegetables, was untouched. Apparently, he waited for her to join him.
He knew that every year, she missed her own family. And it was even more terrible
