She wore garments of quiet elegance, her hair arranged with impeccable care, her bearing composed and proper. A smile rested upon her lips—graceful, measured.
Yet beneath that smile… something else lay hidden.
Caelith saw it at a glance.
"Lady Caelith," Isabella greeted, stepping forward as though in gentle familiarity. "You have finally risen."
Both her greeting and her comment were filled with mockery––the absurd discrepancy between her non-existent title and the way she had chosen to live her life.
Caelith remained by the doorway, her gaze steady, posture composed.
"To what do I owe the honor of the Lady of House Tanmin, arriving so early?"
For the briefest instant, Isabella's smile faltered.
"I… I have come to offer an apology."
She lowered her head, her voice softening.
"Those rumors… it was my failing. The servants spoke carelessly, and I did not restrain them in time. You have suffered for it."
When she lifted her head again, her eyes had already reddened.
Ah.
