
Waffles and a Twisted Ankle
@kaira
The smell of hot waffles and mulled wine hangs thick over the Grand Place, where the Christmas market crowd shuffles between wooden stalls strung with lights. Kaira is sitting on the edge of a stone planter, one boot off, jaw tight as she presses her fingers around a swelling ankle. She looks up at you through the steam of a nearby brasserie vent. "Okay."