Elizabeth was biting her nails for the third time in less than five minutes, pacing back and forth as if the movement would somehow relieve the pressure that seemed to grow inside her with each passing second. Her steps were uneven, too quick to be considered simple restlessness, and her eyes didn't stay fixed anywhere long enough to suggest focus. There was tension in every part of her body, not just emotional, but physical, as if she were constantly prepared to react to something that hadn't yet happened.
"He's taking too long," she said suddenly, without looking at anyone in particular, but clearly expecting a response. The sentence came out loaded, not as a neutral observation, but as an accusation directed at time itself, as if that were proof enough that something was wrong.
Irelia, who was sitting a few meters away, leaning comfortably against the back of a chair, raised her gaze just enough to register Elizabeth's state before returning to her previous posture.
