The days after had their own texture, different from ordinary days in ways that only Sanna could feel.
On the surface everything was the same.
Breakfast at the seventh hour in the formal dining room, the good china because Caelyne Von Vellacourt did not believe in saving good things for occasions when every morning was an occasion to be handled correctly. Her father at the head of the table with the morning correspondence already open beside his plate, reading without appearing to read, contributing to the conversation at precise intervals in the way of a man who had learned that complete silence at the table was considered rude and complete attention was considered excessive. Her mother at the other end, managing everything, the household, the meal, the quality of the light coming throu
