58 Not Worth It

"You're here again?" Dorothy murmured over a cup of warm, chrysanthemum tea. For some reason, her taste had begun to change over the years. She used to enjoy the tartness of fruit teas, but now, it was plain flower drinks.

Dorothy didn't have to lift her eyes from the teacup to know her grandson was furious. When was he not? Beneath his humored stare and large smile, he was always simmering with rage.

Elias was a ticking time bomb. It wouldn't be long before he exploded.

"I see you're irritated at my meddling again," Dorothy said.

The chair beside her loudly screeched. He plopped down and crossed his ankle over his knees. There was a dark glimmer in his bright red eyes.

Dorothy always found it amusing that the moon followed him. They were both seated by the window, but the moonlight danced upon his features alone. It gave him an air of loneliness, turning his broad shoulders into a thin outline. And perhaps he was lonely, after all these years of ruling by himself.