Winter break had arrived, and with it, the bleak circumstance of you having to come back home for a month or so.

Sat in front of a lady—your mother—on the other end of a dining table you knew too well, the scented candle of roses did nothing to warm the chilling atmosphere. The tablecloth was set perfectly even, decorations on one side facsimiles of those on the other; she was diligent and it showed within everything she did. Including preparing the dinner table for her your return. Oh, how Ruellia painstakingly made everything perfect. It was set because of her. Your future was set because of her.

Her lips were pressed shut, judgingly. Those eyes, which you had inherited, bore into your soul. Slowly, she opened her mouth, speaking without a trace of humor in her voice—as if reading a eulogy, “Riddle. I trust that you have upheld your accomplishments at Night Raven College this past semester… correct?”

Her hands fold. She rubs her ring and waits for a quick affirmative.