Brenda's brows furrowed. She had just taken the medicines and was about to drift into a deep slumber, but a familiar, known presence around was tugging at her senses. As though asking her to wake up and respond.
Normally, she would have ignored it easily, surrendered to the weight of sleep. But there was something in that voice —a stubborn persistence that reminded her of a little girl she had loved dearly, the one who never gave up until she got an answer.
Her eyelashes fluttered, heavy with fatigue, and after a few tries, she managed to open her eyes. At first, her vision swam in a blur, but as it slowly cleared, she saw Arwen sitting there at her bedside. Her eyes were fixed on her.
Her brows pinched tighter, as though suspecting she was hallucinating. Yet when she realized it was indeed her granddaughter, a frown creased her pale face.
"What are you doing here?"
