It was funny how mornings could feel completely ordinary yet slightly unreal at the same time. Verona wasn't sure which side of that line she stood on when she tied the last ribbon of the dress the older woman had given her. The fabric smelled faintly of herbs and hand-washed soap, something comforting, like a stranger's kindness stitched into cotton. She checked herself once, then again, and felt a small flutter of nerves in her stomach. She wasn't used to wearing clothes someone picked for her out of concern, not obligation.
Downstairs, the dining hall was loud with chatter and Elric was already there, seated among his knights. His posture, of course, was straight as a spear planted in solid ground. Her eyes landed on the only empty seat beside him, and her feet instinctively directed her toward it.
"Good morning," she said, a little softer than usual.
