"How nostalgic, and at the same time, how ironic," Elandris whispered, her voice a soft murmur as she approached Armandra's limp, broken form. Her footsteps echoed in the empty chamber, the silence settling around us like a suffocating shroud.
I glanced at her, watching as she knelt beside the girl's frail body. Elandris's eyes, usually sharp with mischief, were now clouded with something deeper—something I couldn't quite place. Her hand hovered above Armandra's, a gesture that was both gentle and hesitant. It was rare to see her like this, vulnerable, and for a moment, I remained silent, letting the weight of the situation hang between us.
"I didn't know you could be sentimental," I muttered, my tone sharper than intended.
