Shattered Reflections
It was on days like this that the orphanage felt even more desolate, a place where the children’s spirits seemed to dampen like the weather outside.
“Elara,” came a soft voice behind her, pulling her out of her reverie. She turned to see Mrs. Hargrove, the matron of the orphanage, standing in the doorway. Mrs. Hargrove was a stern woman, her face etched with years of worry and responsibility, but there was a gentleness in her eyes when she looked at Elara.
“Yes, Mrs. Hargrove?” Elara replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
“There’s someone here to see you,” Mrs. Hargrove said, her tone unreadable.