|Mirrielle Elizabeth Rivantroz|
"Thank you, Lady Elizabeth. We don't know what we will do without your help," a middle-aged woman, who was carrying his newborn son, said to me. Her disheveled hair, traces of grease in the her wrinkled face, and the bags under her eyes were enough proof how she suffered upon the sudden fire happened at the estate.
Loss. Hopelessness. Grieve.
"You don't need to thank me, ma'am. This help is not enough for the loyalty and service you have given to my family. This is the least that I can do to all of you," I said to her and to other people behind her. My eyes then roamed around to look at my people who surrounded me. They uttered the same line, thanking me for helping them amidst the adversity that had happened to all of us.
We had not recovered anythin
