Aira watched her quietly walk away without doing anything to stop her. The garden smelt wonderful like roses but at that moment, Aira could care less about it as she stared up at the setting sun instead with a frown on her face.
The last streaks of gold clung stubbornly to the clouds, painting the sky in a way that should have felt warm, comforting, serene—yet all she felt was the hollow press of irritation drilling against her ribs.
Clara's footsteps faded across the tiled path, leaving behind only the faint rustle of her skirts and the echo of the heavy conversation they had just shared.
Nothing about her departure soothed Aira. If anything, the quiet only amplified the confusion and tension churning inside her. She stayed frozen in place, arms limp at her sides, as though the sunlight itself was pinning her there.
