The fruit plate and the milk almost smashed into the woman. She took a step back, the milk splashing out, a few drops landing on her black high heels.
Aldana Candi was standing not far away, panting. Her eyes were swollen and red, and in the depths of her gaze at the woman there floated a look that was neither a smile nor not a smile, neither crying nor not crying—that kind of shocking, bone-deep despair that stirred the heart. The woman couldn't help clenching her fingers, the expression on her face shifting slightly as she forced herself to calm down.
Aldana Candi took a step back and sat down on the bed. She lowered her head, trembling, covered her face with her hands, and began to cry in a hoarse voice.
Her sobs were thin and fine, just like she herself—so frail, and so painfully pitiful.
The woman bent over and tidied up the mess on the floor. In the end she inclined her head slightly toward Aldana Candi and said softly, "I'll bring you more food later."
