leto
"No, that's not right," she mumbled quietly to herself as she rearranged the flowers. Her mother had offered to help, as did Orana, but the girl refused. She was going to make this herself.
The word he had heard over a thousand times. Over time, it had sunk into his skin and become a part of him. A part he wishes he could rip out and burn.
He rested his arms on the table in front of him, panting heavily. "I'm okay," he told himself, "perfectly fine." But the man was unsure of even this.