Lucrezia swallowed carefully, willing her expression to remain composed as the tea touched her tongue. If she focused on the warmth, perhaps she could pretend the chaos was not clawing at the edges of her mind, and it would stop.
Thankfully, the tea was warm, and steadying enough.
For a moment, that was all she focused on. The heat sliding down her throat, and the faint bitterness settling at the back of her tongue. It gave her something tangible, something ordinary. A mortal sensation in a place that was anything but.
Across the table, Rhaenora sliced another piece of fruit. The knife glided too smoothly, and yet Lucrezia heard the faintest separation of flesh from skin, the delicate rupture of pulp, as clearly as if it had happened inside her own mind.
Vaeloria observed her over the rim of her cup.
