Alastair twirled strands of my hair, but I could see his mind was stuck in the memories of the past. I didn't know what I could say to comfort him, if there was anything I could even say.
I lifted a hand to his face and brushed my knuckles against his jawline. He touched my hand and cradled it against his face while he closed his eyes.
"My mother loved to tell stories. She would sit by the window and talk about fables she heard from around the kingdom, or she would make up her own stories. Her long red hair would shine in the sun; I remember she would keep it half up because it would always get in her face." I smiled at the memories. "I was jealous of my sister, who had gotten my mother's looks while I had gotten my father's, from the dark forest green eye color down to the nose. But, I was glad to see so much of my mother in my sister after her death."
