Agnes
Eight years had passed by.
The concert hall was packed to capacity, not a single empty seat in sight. My spine ached like hell from sitting on the hard wooden chair for the past two hours, and my pregnant belly made it impossible to find a comfortable position. Elijah kept rubbing his neck and his slightly graying temples and grumbling softly under his breath about sore backs in the morning.
But none of that mattered as I watched Thea take center stage with her violin.
At eighteen, she looked nothing like the little girl who had once walked into a hell beneath the earth with me. Now, she stood tall and confident in a floor-length black dress we’d designed together specifically for this performance, her dark hair swept up into an elegant knot at the nape of her neck.
