The sky stretched endlessly like a canvas smeared with lead-colored clouds, utterly dull and lifeless.
Yet cheerful voices occasionally rang out in the winter mansion's living room.
Amid this world where the floor-to-ceiling window served as a gray-white screen, their spirited and lively voices sounded exceptionally vivid.
For a long while.
Isatia finally let go of Hyperion's arms.
"Whose daughter is she, so beautiful?"
Isatia choked up as she gently stroked her daughter's cheek, unable to suppress her emotions.
"Yours."
Hyperion broke into laughter through her tears.
Although Isatia's personality turned out quite different from what Hyperion had imagined—she wasn't the dignified, serene duchess she had pictured—she was far easier to get along with than expected. She was livelier than Antanas, the kind of person one could immediately strike up a friendship with.
"Once I return, no one in Ichrite will dare bully my daughter ever again."
