Two months passed in the strange, suspended rhythm of wartime waiting, letters arriving in uneven bursts, news from the front growing steadily more encouraging as Seraphine's and the princess' forces began claiming several ground, and Eleanore's pregnancy advancing steadily alongside Stella's, the two of them leaning on each other through the long, uncertain stretch of separation.
They fell into a quiet routine together, tea in the mornings, slow walks through the garden in the afternoons when their energy allowed it, evenings spent trading letters aloud to each other when the news was good enough to share and sitting in comfortable silence when it wasn't.
It was during a quiet afternoon, resting in the same greenhouse alcove that had once held such different memories, that a stray thought finally surfaced in Eleanore's mind, one she realized, with mild surprise, she hadn't consciously registered until just now.
The system hasn't appeared in weeks.
