The cold of winter still bites at the starts of spring. It's not unusual for her to sneak into your bedroom when the servants have left her alone, the two of you dragging furs and feathered blankets to the fireplace with her face humming against the crook of your arm. It's not unusual for her to be a little gloomy when she asks to stay by your side, especially on those days where you can spot how fresh the scars appear on her skin. But tonight, she just seems happy. She babbles in that sunny voice, as quietly as she can with her face lit up by the light of the fire, up until the moment those blue eyes drift shut and she grows heavy against the floor. You find yourself glad, as you awkwardly brush the hair away from where it sticks to her mouth and pull the coverings closer. You always do. More than anyone, to see her smile fills you with warmth, of wanting to keep her here in this place near the fire while the rest of the world went on.
The weight of the night overtakes you. Soon enough, you wake up. The fire has died to ashes, the sun peeking up through the edges of the deeply-framed windows.
♯♭♯♭♯
The weight of the night overtakes you. Soon enough, you wake up. The fire has died to ashes, the sun peeking up through the edges of the deeply-framed windows.
You are alone.
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SYLVAIN
ANASTASIA