"Mom, this is like the third time you're searching for injuries I don't have. I already told you, the attackers didn't even touch me," Cyran said, exasperation mingling with affection as his mother's hands flitted over him yet again.
His mother pulled back slightly to look at him. Her black hair, smooth and lustrous, framed her face in soft waves, falling past her shoulders. Her deep black eyes searched his face intently, refusing to yield to his protests. Her fair skin and flawless complexion were only enhanced by the slight furrow of worry on her brow.
"You may think you're fine, Cyran, but until I see for myself, I won't stop," she said firmly, her voice gentle. Her elegant navy gown, with its high neckline and delicate lace sleeves, shifted as she moved, her hand resting briefly on his chest as if to reassure herself of his safety. The thin diamond bracelet on her wrist caught the light.
