Frey's POV
After that awkward moment with my mother, I finally managed to compose myself and loosened my arms from around her waist.
Mother said nothing. She showed virtually no reaction to what I had done, and her face remained as impassive as ever. Yet there had been that simple touch when she placed her hand on my head and gently ran her fingers through my hair.
That cold touch alone had been strangely comforting.
It gave me something I had spent most of my life longing for.
Clea...
The First Writer.
I had never been able to see through her.
But perhaps there truly was something hidden behind those emotionless features. Perhaps she didn't see me as nothing more than an heir after all.
If she weren't the First Writer...
If we were simply an ordinary family without all these titles, status, and earth-shattering events tied to our fate...
Perhaps then we could have lived like any other family.
