"Well?" Vaelen asked again, his voice firmer now—pressing, curious, a little impatient.
Luna didn't answer right away. Not because she had no excuse prepared—she had plenty.
But hesitation was part of the performance. Too smooth, too confident, and he'd know something was off.
She let her shoulders sag, exhaled shakily, and clutched at the frayed hem of her white, tattered dress.
"Uhm… My… my parents are dead."
It dropped like a stone in a still pond—unexpected.
It was very random.
Vaelen's brows knit together slightly. He didn't say anything, but she could tell the randomness caught him off guard.
And that was exactly what she needed. To show her vulnerability.
"I-I've lived with my uncle for almost nine years," she continued softly, her voice breaking just a little, just enough. "But I was never really treated like family. I never knew why… until I started noticing the way people looked at me. Like I was different."
She gestured vaguely to her long white hair.
