Sunlight spilled gently through the curtains, bathing Seraph's room in a soft, warm glow. The room was quiet, comfortable, and serene, a stark contrast to the chaotic memories still faintly haunting the corners of her fragile mind.
Her delicate figure sat quietly at the small wooden table by the window, her long green hair cascading softly over slender shoulders.
Her emerald-green eyes, gentle yet troubled, were fixated on the neatly arranged parchment before her.
She traced carefully written letters with a trembling finger, mouthing each word silently. Her lips parted, trying desperately to shape sounds she once knew, yet they emerged only as faint, uncertain whispers.
"O… O-ri… Or-ion…" she whispered softly, the effort evident in the furrowing of her brow and the hesitant movement of her lips.
Each syllable was a small victory, yet each required tremendous strength and resolve.
