Ragna was already moving toward the chapel doors to bring Charlotte and Adala inside, and Jocelynn braced herself for the brief storm of introductions that she knew was coming. She set the chest down on the nearest pew and straightened her back, arranging her face into the expression of gracious composure that her mother had spent years drilling into her.
Even now, even when she felt hollowed out and brittle, the mask came easily. Perhaps too easily.
Charlotte entered first, her soft features creased with concern, and she crossed the aisle toward Jocelynn with short, quick steps and a posture that suggested she was desperate to offer the comfort of a warm hug to the grief-stricken young lady standing amidst the pews. .
