Inside the private room of Vera and Veda's mother, the air smelled faintly of medicine, warm water, and blood hidden beneath perfume. Snow tapped softly against the glass windows while the fireplace crackled weakly at the far side of the room.
Astraea stood with her arms crossed and one leg over the other, leaning lazily against the wall beside the bed.
"You still look this beautiful for someone close to death."
She scoffed lightly after saying it, though the worry hidden beneath her eyes didn't escape the room.
Aroura, who sat against the pillows of her sickbed, laughed weakly before coughing into a white cloth. The maid standing beside her quickly supported her shoulder while adjusting the drip connected to her thin right arm.
"That's too mean, Astraea. This is exactly why you can never keep a man."
Her voice came out strained and soft, but there was still warmth inside it.
Astraea narrowed her eyes immediately.
"Aurora."
