Stepping into the orphanage always felt like entering a new world—one noisier, messier, and brighter than any palace.
The stone corridor beyond the door was narrow and perpetually a little sticky with jam, and the painted handprints along the walls were only occasionally the same color as the ones in the entryway.
Laughter echoed from the high-beamed ceiling above, and the air smelled of old wood, chalk dust, and someone's very recent attempt at baking.
The children were everywhere. As soon as they spotted Elysia, the wave began—tiny feet pounding, wings flapping, tails swishing, shrieks of "Lady Elysia!" rising in a joyous, unbroken chorus.
Even Malvoria, who had faced armies without flinching, took half a step back at the onslaught.
Elysia was swarmed almost instantly. A pair of little girls with silvery horns flung themselves around her legs.
