SETTING: Valen's ROOM
Ophelia sat hunched in the corner of Valen's room, hugging her knees so tightly to her chest it looked like she was trying to disappear inside herself. Her pale, delicate fingers trembled around her skirts, knuckles white. Her eyes were swollen and red, lashes clumped together from dried tears. She hadn't even touched the little bowl of berries Valen had left for her earlier.
Valen entered quietly, pushing the hide curtain aside with his left hand as he balanced a steaming bowl of soup in his right hand. He saw her on the floor and hesitated for just a second.
Then he let out a soft breath and walked over.
"You're not going to see Isabella?" he asked gently, crouching beside her instead of sitting right away. "I heard the village women gathering. I think she's showing them something again. Like the magical thing she called… soap."
His tone was light—carefully so. As if too much force or emotion would break her even further.
