Melancholia

"My dear Ayana, it pains me to see you like this. It has been over ten days since my brother's funeral, and you haven't had a proper meal. I implore you, my love, to nourish yourself, if even just a morsel."

With tender care, Luther made his way to Ayana's rocking chair, positioned beside the grand, expansive window that allowed the soft glow of sunlight to gently caress the room. There, on the small, wooden tray resting upon his wife's lap, he placed a steaming bowl of comforting soup. Taking his place on the chair across from her, he wore a gentle, encouraging smile, silently urging her to commence her meal.