†Noca's POV†
"Who is he?" Ariadne asked at last, her voice low and wary as she looked down at the boy I had dropped into her arms. Her gaze flickered between the bloodied child, my own bruised and stained form and the blank, hollow expression I wore.
"What are you doing?" I countered sharply, ignoring her question. It was absurdity that I had brought a child from no where for her to raise. Even I laughed at it, nor did I have words to explain how it happened.
My eyes swept across her chamber, noting the strange preparations laid out in the dead of night. New robes folded neatly on the table, cloaks half-sewn by the hearth, shirts arranged in careful order, shoes, care items… all untouched but ready. As if she was preparing for someone who would be moving to a new home.
A bitter smirk tugged at my lips. Despite the ache still burning in my chest, the guilt and horror, I couldn't help but feel something between amusement and disbelief. Even now, she was preparing for appearances.
