"But I have a heart, and I know you're dying to hold her." She look the little girl. "Go on, my child."
And in that silence, a small voice echoed.
“Papa!”
Damien froze. The sound struck him like lightning, piercing through the haze of exhaustion and grief. For a moment, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him, that the ghosts of the past had come to haunt him in the aftermath of bloodshed. But when he turned, the sight before him shattered the composure he had held these past few months.
Sera.
Her tiny figure appeared in the doorway of the grand hall, barefoot, dressed in a pink gown that fluttered as she ran. Her dark curls framed her face, her eyes, so much like Agatha’s—shimmered under the light of the burning chandeliers.
Damien’s breath hitched. His heart, hardened by war
