Andria sat alone in her chambers, the weight of recent events pressing heavily upon her. The joy of reuniting with her long-lost brothers quickly turned to sorrow as she grappled with her daughter's passing, Floria. Questioning the depths of her own heart, she wondered if perhaps the ice that seemed to run through her veins had numbed her to the pain of loss. Was she still under the water, being tortured? Floria's death, announced to her as if it were mere gossip, struck her like a dagger through the soul. Some Druid, they said, but to Andria, she was the youngest of her daughters, her precious child lost to the world before her time. Yet, as she stared blankly at her cold coffee long after the talks, she felt nothing. No tears, no cries of anguish. Only a cold, empty void where her maternal instincts should have resided. She recalled the countless tears she had shed before, mourning the daughter she had once loved so fiercely. But now, faced with the reality of her absence, she was struggling to even shed a tear.
Had she failed as a mother? The thought gnawed at her. Cracks within the ice, a thin layer that was just holding the ocean at bay, storms. Perhaps it was the years of threats and betrayals that had hardened her heart, numbing her to the pain of loss. Or maybe it was watching her daughter stray from the path of honor and duty, choosing instead to defy the very principles Andria had fought so hard to uphold. She had tried, in her distant way, to be a mother to her and to guide her along the right path. But each attempt had been met with resistance and defiance until finally, their relationship had fractured beyond repair. Andria was not one to say sorry.
Was she truly the cold-hearted woman that whispers painted her to be, or was it merely a facade, a mask she wore to shield herself from the pain of a lifetime filled with loss and betrayal? Memories of Floria, sharp and jagged, pierced through the icy barrier she had erected around her heart. She thought back to the moments that had defined her, the choices she had made that had led her down this path. Was it before or after Floria defied the king of Urguan, risking other people's lives for the sake of her convictions? Or perhaps it was long before when Andria caught a fleeting glimpse of a girl in a city, a girl who bore a striking resemblance to the daughter she had entrusted to Kailu's care before marching into Haelun'or to confront her treacherous uncle.
The warmth of her fiancé's presence beside her seeped into her bones, melting the icy barrierrs. She felt a stirring of longing, a yearning for something she couldn't quite name. And then, as if in response to her silent plea, warmth began to spread through the cup of cold coffee cradled in her hands, thawing the frost that had settled over her soul. "Oh," she said, her voice distant. A single tear slipped from her eye and into the inky depths of the coffee. "Thank you."