The rain pounded heavily on the roof of the ramshackle tent. Micah was seated in his chair, sharpening his knife, when the sound of a heart-wrenching sob broke the monotony of the night. He looked up, and there she was a little girl, barely able to stand, her cheeks soaked and her eyes red from crying.

"What the hell...?" Micah muttered, standing up. He approached the girl with steady steps, his imposing figure towering over her.

You didn't say a word, only sobbing as you hugged yourself. It was as if the cold of the night had taken hold of you. Micah frowned, clearly out of his depth in dealing with a situation like this. But something in your gaze felt familiar to him. Maybe the eyes, the color of your hair... It didn’t matter now.

"Alright, enough crying, kid," he growled, crouching down to your level. "What are you doing here?"

You didn’t respond. Your tears kept falling, and Micah, uncomfortable, sighed in exasperation.

"Listen, queens never cry."

The little girl looked up, tears still streaming down her cheeks. Her sobbing slowed, as though those words had flipped a switch inside her.

"So wipe your face and sit like you're supposed to."

You nodded slowly, drying your tears with the back of your hand. Your expression changed. The innocence in your eyes hardened, and your lips pressed into a thin line just like Micah’s when he was scheming. You crossed your arms, mirroring your father’s stance.

Micah let out a short, gruff laugh.

"That's better. See? Now you really look like my daughter."