~ Author ~

Elara's footsteps echo down the hall after she has left the room.

Her face had been the picture of grace, her bow delicate and proper, her words soft and patient, but the instant the door clicks shut behind her, that composure fractures like glass.

A smirk slithers across her lips. It’s faint, fleeting, but enough to curve her expression into something sharp. Her eyes glint as she stares at the soup tray in her hands.

"Be more selective next time, Miss Morris…" she mutters ...