¬ Hiln
I didn't know when the tears started.
I had been staring at the canopy top of the bed shielding the low light of the living flame. The events of the past few hours raced through my mind, and before I knew it, my cheeks were wet.
My father was dead.
I hadn't let myself feel it. Not fully. There had been the screaming, the clawing, the spitting blood in Fashire's face on that cliff. There had been rage. So much rage. I hadn't even gotten the time to properly grieve after waking up here.
Now, alone in the dark, my body finally took what it needed.
The sobs came from somewhere deep. And it came with a solemn finality the other tears I had shed didn't have. It hurt me so much I didn't get to bury him. I don't think I ever would.
I pressed my fist against my mouth to muffle the sound. I didn't want the servants to hear. I didn't want him to hear, especially if he might be passing by.
It hurt to breathe.
