The hot steam filled the room with an almost unreal softness, rising in slow spirals that slightly blurred the air and made everything around her quieter, more distant. The water fell steadily, a continuous and almost hypnotic sound that helped dilute the weight of what had happened moments before, as if that space had been created only to contain excesses—of emotion, of pain… of everything.
Serafall sat on a small wooden bench, her body relaxed in a way unusual for someone like her. Her shoulders, normally firm, were now slightly slumped, and her posture carried an evident weariness, not physical… but emotional. Her face still bore traces of recent crying, the skin slightly reddened around her eyes, her eyelashes damp, as if still recovering from what they had shed.
She said nothing.
She didn't complain.
She didn't provoke.
She just… let it be.
