Chapter 630: The Softness That Hid Something Cruel

Chapter 629: The Softness That Hid Something Cruel

Sophia fought to open her eyes.

The light greeted her immediately. It was too bright against her eyes, perhaps too sharp too.

She shut them again with a small sound, her brows pulling together as discomfort settled behind them. It lingered there, pressing insistently.

For a moment, she stayed like that, unmoving, her lashes trembling faintly against her cheeks as she tried again.

Slowly this time and more carefully.

Her eyes opened in narrow slits, adjusting little by little until the brightness no longer felt like it would split her head open. The ceiling above her came into view, familiar in a way that felt distant, like something she should recognize but couldn’t quite grasp fully.

How long had she been asleep? She didn’t know, but it must have been a while.

Her body felt heavy, weighed down by something she couldn’t name. There was a dull ache beneath her skin, not sharp enough to hurt but present enough to remind her that something was not right.

Why had she been asleep?

The question followed the first, and this time, something in her chest tightened faintly.

She searched for the answer. At first, there was nothing.

Just emptiness where memory should have been.

And then it came.

She had done something; that much she remembered. She had done something wrong.

Something that had offended her mother.

The thought settled into place with quiet certainty, even if she couldn’t remember exactly what it was. The details were missing, slipping through her grasp no matter how she tried to hold onto them, but the conclusion remained.

It was her fault.

That much, she knew.

Her fingers curled slightly against the bedsheet as she pushed herself up, a small groan escaping her lips as her body protested the movement. The effort alone felt like too much, like she had been lying there for far longer than she should have.

"I need to..." she murmured faintly, though she wasn’t entirely sure what she meant to do.

Her legs swung over the edge of the bed.

For a brief second, she thought she was fine.

Then the world tilted.

Her balance gave way almost immediately, her knees buckling beneath her as her body dropped to the floor with a soft thud.

A weak groan left her, her hands pressing against the cold surface beneath her as she tried to steady herself, but even that felt like too much effort.

Her limbs felt hollow.

Her throat was dry, painfully so.

She swallowed, wincing faintly at the sensation, the dryness scraping against her insides like sand.

Water.

She needed water.

The thought was simple, clear, but her body didn’t respond to it.

She stayed where she was, her cheek nearly brushing the floor as her breathing came out uneven, her strength refusing to return no matter how much she willed it to.

And then she heard footsteps approaching.

They echoed softly at first, distant but unmistakable, growing closer with each passing second until they stopped just outside the door.

The door opened, and the person spoke.

"Sophia?"

Her mother’s voice came immediately, laced with something that sounded almost like concern as she stepped inside, her gaze landing on Sophia where she lay on the floor.

"What happened?" she asked, moving toward her without hesitation. "I told you to eat something earlier, didn’t I?"

Sophia blinked slowly, her vision still a little unfocused as she tried to look at her.

"I..." she started, but her voice came out weak, barely audible.

Her mother crouched beside her, her hands already reaching out.

"And now look at you," she continued, her tone shifting slightly, something sharper threading through it. "Just because you offended me doesn’t mean you should go and starve yourself."

Sophia stilled faintly at that.

Offended her?

Yes.

That was right.

She had offended her mother. She had done something wrong; she just couldn’t remember what it was she had done.

"I’m sorry," she whispered automatically, the words slipping out without thought.

Her mother didn’t respond to that.

Instead, she slid an arm beneath Sophia, lifting her up with ease.

"You’re always like this," she said as she carried her toward the adjoining wash area. "You do something wrong and then make things worse for yourself."

Sophia didn’t argue.

She didn’t question it either.

Her head rested weakly against her mother’s shoulder, her body too tired to do anything else as she let herself be moved.

The water was warm when it touched her skin.

Just enough to ease some of the tension in her body as her mother bathed her carefully, wiping away the sweat that had clung to her skin.

Sophia didn’t remember the last time this had happened.

The last time her mother had done something like this for her. But she had to admit she liked her mother caring for her. She liked the attention. She liked the feel of her mother’s hands on her body.

It felt... nice.

Even if something about it didn’t sit right.

Even if there was a small, quiet unease curling at the edge of her chest that she couldn’t quite understand.

She ignored it. Besides, why would she have that thought at all?

By the time her mother finished, Sophia had been dressed in clean clothes, her damp hair falling down her back as she was guided to sit.

A cup was pressed into her hands.

"Drink," her mother said.

Sophia obeyed immediately, lifting it to her lips.

The water was cool, soothing as it slid down her throat, easing the dryness that had made every breath uncomfortable. She didn’t realize how much she needed it until it was gone.

Her mother took the empty cup from her without a word.

Then her hands moved to Sophia’s hair.

Sophia stilled slightly at the touch.

A comb followed, moving slowly through her strands, careful at first, then more deliberate.

Her hair fell in soft layers, the mix of black and white strands catching faintly in the light.

Sophia watched it in silence.

She didn’t remember how it became like this. She didn’t remember ever asking for it. She didn’t understand why it was there, but it was.

It didn’t look like her mother’s, though. Her mother’s hair was beautiful. It was long, black, and perfect.

Sophia’s fingers curled slightly in her lap.

"...It’s ugly," her mother said suddenly.

The words cut through the quiet without warning.