The deaf maid brushed her hair out with practiced strokes. Her name was Seraphine.
In the few days they had endured each other, a rather awkward friendship bloomed.
But tonight, Claire didn't want to talk to anybody. Not herself. Not her sister. Not Uncle Jarren. And, not the maid.
Once her hair was brushed, the woman moved to make the bed.
Claire followed her movements through the looking glass.
The woman was so detached - almost as if her ability to feel was taken with her hearing.
Thunder struck outside.
Afterwards, Seraphine nodded and left her alone.
She no longer felt like crying - she wanted to pound her fists into something so hard that it'll bleed.
Claire tossed and turned in the bed, begging for a wink of sleep but receiving none.
Wind howled through the open curtain, putting out her two lit candles. All she could think of was Aurora at that moment.
Her sister was afraid of thunder and lightning.
