Devil's Psychopathic Obsession
She looked up with a warm smile when she saw Mirabella.
“Señorita, you’re awake,” Maria said kindly, her accent wrapping around the words like music. “Hungry?”
Mirabella’s stomach growled on cue, betraying her. She gave a small, sheepish smile. “Yes… actually, I am.”
Maria chuckled softly, as if she had expected that answer. “Good. I made sopa de pollo. Chicken soup, fresh and warm. It will be good for you.”
Mirabella’s lips curved into a grateful smile. “Thank you, Maria. That sounds perfect.”
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