Elara Joyce wasn't angry.
She turned her head gracefully and spoke to Sharon Quinn and Walter Prescott.
"Brother, sister-in-law, we'll discuss this matter thoroughly later, no rush."
Her tone was sincere, with just the right amount of consideration.
"Mm."
Everyone responded, their voices scattered, yet imbued with an unspoken lightness.
The atmosphere at the dinner table returned to normal.
Dishes clinked lightly, voices murmured, like a disturbed pond returning to calm.
Elara Joyce tasted a spoonful of fish soup, the hot broth flavorful and smooth as it entered her mouth.
Finding the taste good, she stood up, picked up the ladle, and spooned another bowl.
But just as she was halfway, the bottom of the bowl was too hot, her fingers flinched, and the bowl of soup crashed heavily onto the table with a "pop."
The boiling soup splattered instantly.
"Ah!"
She exclaimed in panic.
Everyone's eyes fell on her simultaneously.
