IVY
The right side of the corridor opened into a wide dining hall, where a long, polished table stretched beneath the soft gleam of chandeliers.
Omegas moved quickly around it, setting down dishes in a practiced rhythm. Steam curled upward from platters of roasted meat, fresh bread, and bowls of richly spiced stews.
I chose a chair halfway down the table, the wood cool against my palms as I settled in.
The omegas bowed and stepped back as I began to serve myself, taking a generous slice of meat that glistened in its juices. I cut it into smaller portions, my fork piercing a piece, and when I brought it to my lips, the taste nearly melted me.
It carried me back, back to when I was young, when joy had been simple and constant, when both my parents’ love had wrapped around me like sun
