The room suddenly went quiet. Felix dipped an eyebrow pencil into brow powder, bent down, and helped Ash draw his brows. Only after she finished the two sharp, swordlike brows did she say calmly, "I wasn't hiding it. I just didn't think it was worth mentioning."
She paused, then added, "Painting was the only course Father insisted on arranging for me."
Even Felix herself did not know why she had gone out of her way to mention that. Perhaps even she did not understand how she felt. Half a year had passed since she learned of her father's death. Time truly was the strangest power in the world. Her feelings toward her father had gone from burning hatred, to loss and confusion, and now to an indescribable melancholy.
She did not want to resent him, but if she did not resent him, there would be no way to speak of her past. She did not want to forgive him, but if she did not forgive him, there would be no way for her future to begin. Neither retreating nor moving forward, she was like someone who had accidentally stepped into a pit while walking and was trapped inside forever, unable to get out.
But that was not how it was supposed to be in her plan. There should have been a scene of father and daughter confronting each other. Whether her father felt disgust, regret, hatred, or apathy, Felix could accept it. At least she would have successfully taken revenge on the Vosrodar Family. At least her father would finally look at her. At least this mistaken bond of family affection could finally be brought to an end... But there was nothing.
Her father had died in another world. She had not been able to see him one last time,