A Table Beneath the Sun
The courtyard shimmered under the soft embrace of the afternoon sun. Warm light spilled across polished stone and silver dishes, tracing the faint ripples of the fountain nearby. The air smelled faintly of herbs and baked bread, mingled with the sweetness of ripened fruit.
Victor sat with quiet composure at the long table beneath a canopy of white silk. The table was broad—crafted from dark oak, its surface smooth enough to mirror the glint of sunlight. Around him, laughter and gentle conversation rippled like wind over calm water.
Sasha sat at his right, her hands folded neatly in her lap, though her gaze wandered—curious, uncertain, yet full of warmth. Across from her, Anna's voice carried softly, filled with the kind of affection that could only belong to a mother. Ben sat beside her, his presence grounded and steady, like an unspoken pillar of the family.
