“What is the meaning of this?” Aysen insisted, and his slim body was racked with what appeared tremors. “Where are my parents? Why can I not see my brother?”

“All in good time, Milord,” the maid said, answering different questions with the same answers.

Aysen’s face contorted in pain, and he clutched at his left wrist, his breath coming in sharp inhalations.

“Try not to aggravate yourself, Milord,” the woman warned. “It will make your…condition worse.”

Aysen didn’t retort with a question. He simply squeezed his eyes shut, and continued to take deep breaths.

“It hurts, Miranda,” he said.

“I know,” she replied, and sat at the edge of his bed.

Sora felt a pain of her own, somewhere deep inside her chest, and she tried her best not to disturb anything.

Aysen winced in pain, and the maid, now known as Miranda, stroked his head softly, trying to alleviate the agony.

Sora flinched at the intimate gesture, but kept silent.

I’m jealous?

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