Chapter 9 - The Feast of the Lost
The ballroom was left in an awkward, stunned silence. The elite guests stood frozen, unsure whether to offer condolences or slip away into the night.
Alistair didn't care about any of them. He turned his back on the crowd, walking back to the grand piano where the little girl sat quietly, her small legs dangling over the edge of the mahogany bench.
He knelt down before her once more, taking her dirty, scratched hands gently into his own. Tears streamed freely down his face, washing away years of grief and hollow emptiness.
"What is your name, little one?" he asked softly.
"Iris," she replied, her stomach letting out a loud, miserable growl that broke the lingering tension in the air.
May you like
Alistair smiled through his tears, a genuine, joyful laugh escaping his lips for the first time in ten years. He reached up and gently wiped the smudges of dirt from her forehead.
"You asked if you could play in exchange for food," Alistair said, his voice filled with overwhelming love. "My darling Iris... this entire house, everything in it, belongs to you. You will never be hungry again."
