Lorien and Malorie made themselves comfortable upon the couch adjacent to Grandma Judith's. The atmosphere in the sitting room was soft with golden light filtering through the lace curtains, and the faint aroma of roasted beef still lingered from the afternoon meal. Judith had barely lowered herself into her seat before she made an attempt to rise again, the polite instinct of an elder who wished to give the young their privacy.
But Lorien's voice halted her midway.
"No, Nana," he said gently, his tone carrying that polite firmness Judith could never quite resist. "I need you here as well."
Judith blinked, slightly taken aback, but she nodded and sank back into her chair. "Very well, my dear."
Lorien turned towards Malorie then, and though his face bore the familiar calm she had come to adore, there was something beneath it—an undercurrent of sorrow that made her heart ache before he even spoke.
"My mother is unwell," he began.
