The suffocating scent of antiseptic that permeated the corridors of the Iron Hearth City Hospital slowly began to recede, replaced by the crisp, invigorating fragrance of lavender and jasmine carried by the mountain breeze. Rianor Sudrath pushed the silver-framed wheelchair with a movement so fluid and deliberate it was as if he feared the slightest vibration on the polished marble floor might cause irreparable harm to the woman seated within.
Elara leaned her back against the plush cushions of the VIP-standard wheelchair. Her fingers, thin and pale, gripped the edges of the heavy wool blanket that draped over her motionless legs. Her eyes, still rimmed with red from hours of agonizing tears, began to glimmer with a faint, newfound light as they passed through the grand glass doors leading to the hospital's private botanical gardens.
