After breakfast, Elara cleared the tray and returned with a folded dress—simple, pale blue, the kind of fabric that looked too soft for someone like Aurora, who was used to coarse rags and threadbare sleeves.
“I thought this might suit you,” Elara said, holding it up with a warm smile. “It’s one of the lighter ones. The healer said your body still needs time to recover.”
Aurora’s fingers brushed the fabric hesitantly. It felt unreal beneath her touch, smooth and cool. “It’s… beautiful,” she whispered, almost afraid to say it aloud.
“Come, let’s get you ready.”
Elara helped her dress, moving with the patience of someone used to dealing with broken things. When she reached for the brush, Aurora stiffened immediately. Her shoulders drew tight, eyes darting down as if bracing for pain.
El
