Isabella moved with a quiet grace as she helped me clean my face. Her touch was gentle, respectful—almost reverent. She didn’t say much, but her presence was like a steady heartbeat in the storm of my emotions.
As I sat still, trying to collect myself, she stepped behind me and began redoing my hair. Her fingers carefully smoothed back the strands I had ruined with tears, twisting them again into the French bun I had styled earlier. The familiarity of the motion, the soft tug and pull, anchored me in the moment.
She didn’t rush. She didn’t force comfort. She just… stayed.
I closed my eyes and took a breath to calm myself, drawing from the steadiness she offered. And then Luna’s voice filled my mind—soft, solemn, but strong.
‘I believe in you, Selene. I’m terribly sorry that you have to
