Karasmara
I was in our manor with my mother when she felt my father dying hours ago. She was pale, looked weak, but dealt with it surprisingly well. She was strong, a true Lycan. If anyone could survive such a loss, it was us. Looking into the mirror and washing my face for the tenth time, I wiped off my tears. Why did it seem this loss was harder on me than on my mother? More than grief, I was consumed by rage, indignation.
Suddenly, the piercing noise of the doorbell ringing disturbed my sharp hearing. I went to the living room and met Raphael, the servant had just opened the door to him.
My mother headed to the living room as well, assisted by a servant. She still couldn’t walk properly, her balance lost with part of her soul. Yet her eyes looked less lost than mine. She was sad but
