Time moves forward, as it always does, with days passing in a blur of tasks and routines. Everyone follows their roles diligently, and production runs smoothly. Yet, when you glance at Noctis now, there's a noticeable shift.
The smile she wears, though perfectly crafted, seems like a mask—a performance to shield the depths of grief that still linger beneath.
Her eyes, once bright with warmth and laughter, now carry a faint, almost imperceptible sadness.
It's there, in the way her gaze lingers a moment too long on nothing in particular, or how her shoulders slump just slightly as though the weight of an invisible burden presses down on her.
No one dares to comment on it. After all, she's just lost her brother. That kind of pain is too deep, too raw for anyone to truly understand unless they've lived it. Everyone knows better than to ask her to smile for real, to pretend it's all fine when it's not.
Still, she carries on.
