WC: 114
Gormlaith walked up to the school that her neice had built, feeling a sort of bitter defeat well up inside of her.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Gormlaith had told Isolt when she was young. Often, this sentence would precede a killing of an animal that strayed too close to their property.
And now, Isolt had done many things Gormlaith wouldn't do.
Her daughter, Riognach, played on the lawn. Gormlaith lurked in the shadows, her cape drawn tightly around her. Riognach was so small, just barely strong enough to toddle around, often scooting or crawling more than walking.
Gormlaith raised her eyebrows. If Riognach weren't sullied by non-magic blood, she might be adorable.