?Chapter 724:


    The sunny yellow crown looked absolutely perfect with her pale yellow dress, making her look like a princess straight out of a fairytale.


    Wesley simply nodded, a look of pure satisfaction on his face.


    Elena focused not on herself but on the young girl beside her. “Why aren’t you at school?”


    The girl seemed about seven years old, an age usually spent in school, yet she was selling flower wreaths by the roadside.


    The girl shook her head slightly. “There’s no school for us on the ind. I’ve never been to one.”


    “What’s your name?” Elena crouched down to look into the girl’s eyes.


    “Lizzie Diaz,” she answered, her face brightening. “You’re so pretty, miss! Are you a princess?”


    Wesley couldn’t help but let out a gentleugh.


    Elena nced at Wesley and replied smoothly, “No, I’m not a princess.”


    This small ind had inhabitants, but itcked even the most basic facilities, like a school.


    “Where are your parents?” Elena asked.


    “I’m on my own,” Lizzie said, her bright eyes showing no sadness.


    Lizzie then wiped her hand on her dress and looked up at Elena with hopeful eyes. “Can I hold your hand, miss? My grandma says touching fairies brings good luck. Since you’re not a princess, maybe you’re a fairy?”


    Elena was usually reserved and kept her distance, but touched by Lizzie’s genuine look, she softened. “Of course.”


    Lizzie’s joy was clear as she grasped Elena’s hand.


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    Elena noticed the rough texture of Lizzie’s palm—clear evidence of hardbor. At an age meant for y and care, Lizzie’s hands bore marks of struggle.


    Elena’s eyes stayed on those small hands.


    Embarrassed, Lizzie pulled her hand back. “My hands aren’t very nice. You have beautiful hands, miss. I need to work hard to buy medicine for my sick grandma. The fisherman brings it from the maind.”


    Elena’s gaze deepened, her emotions hidden. “Is that how you earn money, by making these wreaths?”


    “Yes, miss.” Lizzie smiled and held up a wreath. “I pick wildflowers from the ind’s hills. They’re really pretty, and I turn them into wreaths.” She exined that each wreath sold for dors, and selling two a day helped her save enough for her grandmother’s medicine each month.


    Elena asked gently, “Do those little hands of yours hurt?”


    Lizzie responded with a resilient smile, “No, they’re fine, Miss.” Her endurance was clear—she had adapted to her tough circumstances.


    Elena looked into Lizzie’s lively eyes, seeing echoes of her own childhood hardships.


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