Birthrights: Part 19 PREVIEW

There was a quiet tapping of slight knuckles against the solid wood of the door. You turned, calling for whoever was there to enter.

A young woman pushed open your door, her head bowed down so that you could only get a glimpse of her pale complexion. The harsh shadows covering her face seemed softer than those cast upon Alfred or Francis’s skin, and you looked at you own hands to see if the crevices of you hand were shaded with olive or royal blue.

Her hair was dark at the roots but light seemed to have been absorbed into the strands itself, turning what used to be a ruddy copper into a soft red. Her face was open-looking-- all soft edges and gentle curves, lines that moved smoothly into each other from jaw to chin to lips to nose to brow without being stopped by any harsh bones or shadows. Her downturned eyes were wide and shining with inexperience. The newness of everything that made her so hesitant to look at you was one you were familiar with.

You smiled at her when she finally met your eye.