"My precious son, how are you?"
Her voice sounded like siren songs and the strum of melodious harps. Her words echoed vibrantly. It vibrated within Moulin's heart, resounding strongly. The youth who stood before the mirror inhaled sharply. As though he was mustering all of his courage to reply to his mother. Slightly, delicate fingers trembled, and he refused to let any tears fall. But regardless, he knew his mother would want him to. To let go and cry in her arms.
But she wasn't here.
Silver eyes lowered. A guilty expression filled his face as he slightly bent his neck. He wanted to cry out so much, but he clenched his hands and held all of them in.
From the other side of the mirror, Lady Maxiel's heart ached at the vulnerable form of her youngest child. She sat at her husband's desk. A circular mirror, mounted on a golden stand, was situated on the desk before her. Fiddling on her skirt were her hands, hidden under the table.
