MIRANDA
I wonder what happened to you.
After Aunt Oryanna died, you were so broken, so lost, that it frightened me more than I wanted to admit. I still remember the funeral. I remember the look on your face that day, the emptiness in your expression, and the strange anxiety that had already started gnawing at me even before everything truly fell apart. Perhaps some part of me had already sensed it then, that you were slipping away, little by little, becoming distant in a way I could neither stop nor understand.
And in the end, what I feared was exactly what happened.
You became worse.
Not all at once, perhaps, but enough that each new change in you felt like another small loss. And I failed to stop it. I failed to comfort you. I failed to reach you in the way I had once believed I could.
I tried.
I truly did.
