Martha walked past Cynthia and pulled out the chair closest to them at the far end of the long dining table.
"Have a seat, dear," she said gently, ignoring the disapproving stares from the others.
"Why are you inviting her, Martha?" grumbled a fat man, clearly wearing a wig and overdressed in noble attire.
"Ugh... my wine tastes worse after seeing her face," a similarly plump woman sneered, glancing with disdain at the cup in her hand.
Cynthia quietly took the seat Martha had pulled out. Martha then sat beside her, positioning herself next to her son, who sat at her right, and her husband beyond him.
"Mother, I'm scared," the boy near Cynthia whispered, shifting away from Cynthia as if she were some kind of monster.
Cynthia did not react. She lifted her cup, and a servant silently poured a purple liquid into it. She drank with her eyes closed.
"How dare you come back here, after what you did to your father?" someone hissed.
