Velara's POV.
I sit on the edge of the window seat, the soft light of morning casting a pale glow across my face. My hands are clasped in my lap, white-knuckled, as if holding myself together by sheer force of will.
Outside, the forest is quiet, a deceptive stillness that makes the storm inside my chest all the more unbearable.
“He won’t even look at me, Vladimir,” I whispered. My voice cracks, raw from sleepless nights and stifled sobs. “He walks the other way when I come into a room. Like I’m a stranger. Like I disgust him.”
Vladimir stands a few feet away, arms crossed as he leans against the far wall. He says nothing for a moment, just watches me with a heavy heart. I must look so small—so unlike the fierce, composed Luna I'd always been. The woman he’s known for decades is unravel
