In the sealed carriage, Aurora Coldwell fell into another brief coma. The stench inside was unbearable, with no water and no food. Her head felt like it was burning into a muddled haze, only the little girl beside her kept running her sticky little hand back and forth over Aurora's forehead, as if trying to comfort her through touch.
She actually wasn't afraid of death. After all, she had gone through it once already. Looking back over these short twenty-something years, all she felt was regret—her temperament had been too mild, never fighting, never scrambling, so she'd never known the hardships of the world, never understood how vicious people could be. That was how she'd ended up like this. If she were given another chance, she definitely wouldn't let herself be oppressed by a stepmother and bullied by a younger sister again.
After a brief stop, the vehicle restarted and headed deeper into the dense forest.
