Morning came too soon.
The light bled gently through the curtains, brushing the room with a delicate gold. The air was still, heavy with unspoken thoughts. A faint rustle of fabric echoed as someone turned in their bed, trying to escape the inevitable pull of daybreak.
Sylphia lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, where delicate shadows danced across the surface from the morning light seeping through the curtains. Just moments ago, she'd been dreaming—something chaotic, tangled—but she couldn't remember what. The memory struck her like a wave. Tears welled up in her eyes and refused to stop. She didn't understand why her body reacted this way. She wasn't a child. And yet, everything hurt more than it should have—Kaen's gaze, his laughter... like she was a joke. Like her pain didn't matter.
