- Mayla POV -
The morning light streamed softly through the infirmary windows. Mayla sat on the edge of her bed, her suitcase neatly packed. Trafalgar would soon return from his uncle Mordrek's funeral, and once he did, she was ready to leave.
Her chestnut hair spilled loosely over her shoulders as she combed it with steady fingers. It felt strange not to wear the maid's uniform she had been dressed in for most of her life. Trafalgar had told her she was no longer his maid, and though she had accepted it, the thought still made her uneasy. For now, she wore a plain dress, simple but clean, a reminder that she remained in the Morgain castle only for a few more days.
Her body still carried traces of weakness from the coma she had been forced into not long ago. Moving carefully, she glanced at her belongings, satisfied that everything she needed was already tucked away inside her luggage.
Almost everything.
