Catching a glimmer of her blue hair under the moonlight, Atlas felt his breath hitch. Lara lay there soundly, curled up on the green grass like a child lost in dreams. Her arms hugged her pillow tightly, as if it were a lifeline—or perhaps, a teddy bear she couldn't bear to let go of. It was an adorable scene, one that tugged at something deep within him. But beneath the sweetness lingered sadness, a quiet ache that whispered louder than words ever could.
Atlas gazed toward the small separate mansion perched at the edge of the garden—the place where Isabella had been housed by King Henry. His jaw clenched briefly before he exhaled sharply, shaking his head.
"....now I feel like an idiot," he muttered, sinking down beside Lara. For the first time since stepping into this warped illusion, clarity struck him like lightning. "I should've guessed from the start..."
