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Summary
“Rumi.”
The young child looked up at the tall figure of Celine, their shadow looming over her. Usually, normal children are easily scared by the shadows themselves but Rumi was used to it, already experiencing it a handful of times.
The same indifferent expression, the same eyes she couldn’t read, the same reprimanding tone that carried both grief and anger. She’s so used to it.
The young Rumi kept staring at Celine, “What were you doing?”
“I just wanted to make the patterns go away,” Rumi answered, holding out her arms that she made a mess in. “It didn't work though…”