Theron stepped out of his room with Lyra trailing behind him. He came to a sudden stop, and she almost ran into his back, but before she could say much at all, her words were caught in her throat.
An old woman stood before them, her expression hard to read and yet carrying an odd darkness within it that only seemed to be growing deeper.
It wasn't the sort of obvious darkness one would see in the night, but instead a darkness that one felt innately and yet couldn't quite put their finger on—almost like the discomforting sound of metal scraping against metal, but far more subtle.
Matriarch Macie.
"Good morning," Theron said with a smile, looking down at the old woman before him. Macie was probably one of the few people with whom he could actually do this so obviously. Maybe it was age, but the old woman's back had rounded forward to the point her eye level was barely at five feet tall.
