2.3 KiB
By mid day storm had passed. And by nightfall, the wind no longer howled at the shutters, and the snow drifted down in soft spirals—slow and silent, like the breath of a sleeping world. The small chamber, for all its stone and shadow, felt closer now, held by the hush that comes after a night of grief and telling.
Ryn sat by the fire, her shoulders hunched in thought, gaze fixed not on the flames but on something deeper, further, unreachable. Her armor was gone—folded neatly in the corner—but she still wore the weight of it in her posture.
Alisha stood behind her, holding a thick wool blanket. She said nothing at first. Simply stepped closer, draped it around Ryn’s shoulders, and then, after a moment’s hesitation, slid beneath it too.
They sat that way for a long while. No words. No questions. Just the closeness of warmth shared against the lingering cold.
Ryn’s hand rested beside Alisha’s on the stone hearth. And then—slowly, almost accidentally—their fingers brushed.
Alisha looked at her. Ryn didn’t turn, but she didn’t move away either.
So Alisha leaned her head against her shoulder.
It wasn’t a kiss. Not yet. But it was a choice, a moment of truth made manifest in the nearness of skin and silence. It was a kind of confession, louder than words.
Time moved strangely after that.
The fire crackled. The snow thickened outside the window. Somewhere, far off, a bell rang once—deep and low, as if mourning its own echo.
Later, they lay on the narrow cot, the blanket wrapped around them both, Ryn’s back to Alisha, her breath slow, even.
Alisha’s arm curled around her. She wanted to hold tighter. To speak. To ask.
But she didn’t.
Not until the light began to shift again—the first gray hints of morning paling the edges of the storm. Not until Ryn stirred and gently, almost imperceptibly, pulled away.
It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t even sudden.
It was simply distance returning. A queen’s armor sliding back over a girl’s heart.
Ryn stood and moved to the window. Her silhouette was stark in the light. Snow still fell outside—soft, unending.
Alisha watched her for a moment. Then whispered into the cold, just loud enough for the wind to hear: “If I lose you to this… what was I ever holding?”
Ryn didn’t turn. And Alisha didn’t ask again.