Giselle had only recently regained the strength to eat her meals and leave one side of her room for the other. As winter deepened, it had become a favorite past-time of hers to watch snowflakes fall outside the window in silence. Sometimes the window would fog over and the world outside would become almost impossible for Giselle to see—in those cases she'd return to her spot on the bed. Lysara always made sure she stayed warm and fed, sometimes lingering at the doorway when she thought she couldn't see her.
Giselle wasn't ungrateful; she just couldn't find the strength in her to say it.
This morning was no different from the other days since the incident. It was a routine of waking, bathing, slipping into something warm, trying to keep down a light breakfast and spending the rest of the day by the window or on her bed.
It was even more tiring today, for some reason.
