As they entered, the head of the monastery approached them, his robes flowing gracefully, the soft rustle of fabric creating a quiet rhythm in the otherwise still air. Mickaël extended his hand in greeting, his voice respectful. "Father, this is Miss Dragnelle."
The monk's warm, kind eyes crinkled as he turned to Dragnelle, offering his hand in greeting. She smiled her usual charming smile, the kind that made her appear perfectly at ease, as if she had never known a day of discomfort in her life. "Welcome to the monastery," he said warmly, his voice carrying the gentle cadence of someone accustomed to speaking with patience.
Dragnelle chuckled lightly, shaking his hand with a gentle, firm grip. "I'll try not to be any trouble, Father," she replied, her tone laced with polite humor, though there was a subtle edge to it, a quiet irony that only those who knew her well might have caught.
The monk chuckled softly in return, nodding as he stepped aside, allowing Mickaël to lead Dragnelle toward her room.
Mickaël paused at the threshold after opening the door, his expression shifting briefly, a fleeting hesitation crossing his features, as if unsure whether he should linger or give her space. His voice softened when he spoke, a quiet invitation. "Get some rest," he said, almost reluctantly. "I'll check in tomorrow."
Dragnelle nodded in response, offering him a faint, practiced smile. "Goodnight, Mickaël."
"Goodnight, Dragnelle," he replied, his voice lingering a moment longer than necessary, before he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the stone corridor.
The door clicked shut behind her, and instantly the atmosphere in the room shifted. The carefully crafted charm Dragnelle had worn like armor throughout the day fell away, revealing the raw, unguarded woman beneath. The fatigue of the journey settled heavily on her shoulders, and the pain in her leg flared up with a sudden, sharp intensity. Her cane clattered against the stone wall as she leaned it aside with a quiet, frustrated hiss of breath. The polished composure she had displayed was replaced by something far more frantic—her fingers trembling as she fumbled to open her bag. The sharp pang in her leg shot through her, and her body stiffened in reaction, but she fought to maintain control, to hold herself together.