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Wrapped in a thin blanket, Hexia sat in her slippers by the electric heater, her beautiful black eyes staring at the orange-red heat source, occasionally spacing out.
"Tilan sister, what do you think of this~" Lively footsteps approached, and three children around ten years old came to her side, holding up their freshly drawn pictures.
The images were painted with watercolor pens, and the style was quite soulful; the chaotic lines probably required some kind of illusion to see clearly. It seemed to depict a small person with black hair, holding a sword, flying in the sky, with various buildings below, skewed in every direction.
"This is you, Sister Tilan. Do you think it looks like you?" the boy held up the drawing, eagerly awaiting the girl's response, his nose bubbled with snot.
"First, wipe your nose," the girl handed out two tissues, and then looked at the picture.
She didn't want to discourage him, but she couldn't bring herself to utter insincere praises.
