Warm steam still clung to Sylvia's pale skin as she finally rose from the bath. Droplets slid down her long black hair, dripping from the ends onto her shoulders and tracing their way down the curves of her back. The air in the stone chamber felt layered: on one side, the biting heat of the bath; on the other, the chill that seeped in from the castle's ever-damp walls. The mixture pressed against her body as if she were caught between two different seasons.
Celes glanced at her briefly from where she still soaked. She said nothing, merely lifted her glass of white wine once more, drained the last of it with a calm motion, and set it upon the pool's edge. Her expression, as usual, barely shifted but her eyes lingered faintly on Sylvia until the queen stepped out of the bath.
