The morning sun peeped through the small wooden windows of the modest cottage.
Moira stirred as she heard the gentle knock followed by her aunt's soft voice from the other side of the door.
"Moira, time to wake up, dear. The dishes and washing won’t do themselves," her aunt called.
Moira groaned softly and sat up on the thin but clean mattress laid on the corner cot. The room was small—just enough for her belongings, which were few. It's been over a month since she left Slovenia. She has gotten used to the house chores and other activities, though at first she wasn't, but with time…
Though she still wonders why her mother and father insisted that she should flee, that it was dangerous without a valid reason, after all, Lyla is also at the palace. She had tried her best to ask her aunt,
