Bianca
When we arrived at Saint Luna’s Orphanage the next day, our car was followed by three more vans, each one filled to the brim with covered dishes, baskets of bread, and containers of every shape and size.
I’d had the staff pack up everything from the baby shower, keeping some for themselves and their families, of course. The rest—which was still an enormous amount—we brought with us.
The orphanage itself was a large stone building on the outskirts of the city, far from the gleaming spires and polished streets of the palace district. The paint was peeling from the shutters, and the iron fence surrounding the property had seen better days. Still, the garden was meticulously maintained, with bright yellow flowers lining the walkway.
Headmistress Cordelia emerged from th
