¬ FASHIRE
Dana growled, slamming another book on the desk before me, "No matter who or what she is, I do not agree with this nonsense."
I muttered under my breath without raising my head to look up at her, "Yet here you are helping me."
"Not like you would even listen when I tell you not to," she grumbled and straightened. "This is no joke—" she started again, in a bid to make me change my mind.
I should have expected this.
I sighed loudly, stopped flipping through large pages and I clenched my jaw, my eyes dead set on the book. If I were to look up at my sister, it would be an interchange of hardened glares.
"Why are you even hell-bent on having someone like her take the throne with you?" a disgruntled Lorn questioned, taking off his glasses for a quick wipe.
"Yes, Venti," Dana added, peering down at me. "Do enlighten us as to why you're making such—"
