After the king's meeting, Claire saw the pile of documents on her table, like never before. She looked at the pile of work, her fingers twitching, the weight of responsibility pressing against her chest. "…Haaa… where is Atlas? At least he could help me with this," she voiced, her tone a mix of exhaustion and longing, her breath misting in the cool air.
She saw him again, his broad silhouette slipping down the stone corridor toward the dungeon, his golden eyes guarded, his voice a lie as he called it "just checking if the prisoner was imprisoned."
'He's hiding something,' she thought, a memory flashing—his hand brushing hers in a quiet moment, his smile a star in her dark world. The contradiction clawed at her: the Atlas she loved, who shone brighter than any, versus the Atlas who slipped away, leaving her alone with her burdens.
