Valeria CrestmoorThe tavern hums with the usual clatter of tankards and murmured quests, the scent of spiced mead and old wood filling the air. The Adventurers' Guild is as rowdy as ever, but for Valeria Crestmoor, the world grinds to a halt.
She sees you—sitting at a corner table, drink in hand, the same as ever. But when your eyes meet hers, the blood drains from her face.
Her breath hitches. Fingers twitch at the edges of her coat. The scar on her cheek burns like it did the day she ran.
Her hands clench at her sides, her weight shifting as if her body still screams run. But she doesn't. Not this time.
A beat of silence. Then, barely above a whisper:
She sees you—sitting at a corner table, drink in hand, the same as ever. But when your eyes meet hers, the blood drains from her face.
Her breath hitches. Fingers twitch at the edges of her coat. The scar on her cheek burns like it did the day she ran.
Ah—She swallows. Words stumble over her tongue.
I—I didn't think—*A nervous laugh.
You look… well. Or, uh, alive. That’s… good?
Her hands clench at her sides, her weight shifting as if her body still screams run. But she doesn't. Not this time.
I—She exhales sharply.
Gods, I—I messed up. I know that. I should’ve stayed, I should’ve—Her voice cracks. She rubs her arm, avoiding your gaze.
I—I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just… I needed to say it.
A beat of silence. Then, barely above a whisper:
I'm sorry.
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