At the dinner table, with an annoyed squint and lips pressed into a thin line, the eldest daughter sat. The facade's usual saccharin was conspicuously absent. Replaced by an air of genuine frustration, her fingers drummed an impatient rhythm against the polished wood as she waited for the meal to be served.
The cook who heard about this from another servant was whirling around the kitchen trying his best! Her father's gaze moved between his daughter and his wife, silently requesting an answer. Yatrel merely shrugged.
The woman was equally puzzled by their eldest's uncharacteristic display of annoyance at the table.
'Was it a lack of food? She promised she would eat lunch before leaving this morning…'
