Cecilia's lips parted, but no sound came out.
The question struck deeper than she expected. Regret. The word lingered, heavy in her chest.
Thomas leaned back, his expression patient and sympathetic. "It's been many years since you've set foot outside these walls. I imagine you must miss the world beyond them. The people, the air, the light."
Cecilia's gaze fell to the floor. She didn't answer right away. Her fingers tightened slightly around the teacup, and the faint tremor in her hand betrayed her thoughts.
Would she regret it?
The truth was that she already carried regrets.
Her mother's face rose in her mind, gentle, smiling, her hair tied in the same neat braid every morning.
Cecilia remembered the last time she'd seen her, on the day she'd been sent to the academy.
It had not been a happy day. There had been lots of crying.
And then, years later, the letter had come. She was dead. Cecilia hadn't even been allowed to attend the funeral.
