Time flowed seamlessly, even amidst the inherent chaos of divinity, as the week at the Franco residence came to its inevitable close—a week punctuated by laughter, disorder, and the inimitable texture of familial warmth that only gods, with their tangled pantheon of relationships and rituals, could fully comprehend or appreciate.
Mary, her embrace almost suffocating in its intensity, clutched her daughters with maternal fervor. "Elisabeth, when you arrive at your new residence, initiate a video call. I expect a detailed visual of my new grandchildren," she declared, eyes gleaming with euphoric anticipation.
"Of course, Mom," Elisabeth responded, a gentle smile curving her lips, tempered by mild amusement.
"Are you truly not accompanying us for the Christmas holiday?" Alice interjected, her tone skeptical, arms crossed with an authority that belied her youth.
Tarrant responded with a placid smile. "Your mother and I desire a period of solitude to—"
