Liera drifted across Verona's room as though afraid one wrong step might erase the last traces of the girl who once lived here. She gathered her clothes, smoothing out wrinkles that weren't actually there, brushing a bit of dust from the corner of a shelf even though she knew no dust ever dared collect in Verona's space.
There wasn't much to organize. No overflowing drawers. No cluttered vanity. Not even a stack of letters from friends, because Verona never had any. The realization tugged at Liera again, a dull, stubborn ache. Every item in the room was something she had slipped into Verona's hands over the years. Like a ribbon she thought looked cute on her, a tiny carved wooden bird from a traveling merchant, or the pale blue dress that Liera knew would look so good on Verona and that became her favourite.
