Miri's Pov
The room was a little warmer than I expected. Calista had really made The room her own. The fire in the hearth crackled low, casting golden shadows across the wooden floor and dancing along the soft maroon walls. Shelves lined with spellbooks and tiny, floating candles shimmered faintly with magic. The scent of lavender and something older—earthier, like aged parchment and moss—hung in the air. Calista sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, a thick knitted shawl draped around her shoulders, her black with streaks of silver hair cascading over it like moonlight in the sky.
Her gaze lifted when I entered, and a gentle smile softened her sharp features. "Miri," she said, her voice calm and reassuring, like a lullaby forgotten in time. "Come here."
I padded closer and sat beside her, the mattress dipping under our weight. Her presence was calming in a way few things had been lately.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, watching me carefully.
