Mayla sat on the edge of her bed, the leather-bound diary resting closed on her lap. She had not realized how long she had been reading until her legs felt stiff, her back heavy. Months in a forced sleep had kept her confined to these walls, her body still recovering from the coma. Even after waking, she had remained indoors most of the time.
But today was different.
Her suitcase stood ready by the door, neatly packed the night before. Soon, Trafalgar would ride out with the family to attend Mordrek's funeral. And when he returned, she would leave this infirmary behind to stand at his side again.
Her gaze lingered on the diary, her reflection faint on its worn cover. The memories it held were heavy, sometimes unbearable, but they had led her here—to a single conclusion.
'Even if he has changed. Even if the boy I once knew no longer exists. Even if the young master I grew up beside now feels like a stranger wearing his face… I will remain with him.'
