Third Person POV
{Three months later}
The nursery was warm in the particular way that rooms became warm when they had been lived in by something small and new, not just the heat from the fire in the corner, but the warmth of presence, of soft breathing, of a life that had not yet learned how to take up less space than it needed.
Sunlight came through the curtains in long pale stripes, lying across the crib, catching the dust that moved through the still air without any particular destination. The walls were cream, soft and unhurried, the kind of color that made the room feel like a place where nothing bad could reach.
In the crib, the baby slept.
Three months old and already her hair was visible at the temples, black, the same black as her father's, dark as a sky with no moon. But at the front of it, cutting straight through the darkness like a fault line in stone, a streak of white.
