It's already the next day, and I sit by my father's bed, waiting for him to wake up or show some signs that he's about to do so. The physician checked his condition an hour ago, telling me that he's doing better with a day's rest and will be awake soon. I genuinely hope that it is sooner; there's much that we have to converse.
I opened the windows in his dimly lit room to allow the air to circulate inside. Today isn't as cold as it was always, and there's a hint of the sun shining through the clouded sky. The outdoor is clearer; no more haze.
The king's room is spacious but with rarely any opening making it feel suffocating and cold. I am also quite stunned at how unbelievably dirty his room is with spider webs and dust everywhere. I never noticed it my first time here since we were in a time of crisis.
