The winter wind seeped softly through the thick curtains. Pale sunlight dripped inside, dim and veiled by mist. The stone bedroom that last night had been filled with the shadows of candles now felt colder, though the gray light marked the turn of day.
Sylvia stirred awake slowly. Her eyes were still heavy, her breathing still following the slow rhythm of sleep. She felt something warm and soft pressed against her chest. Reflexively, her arm moved, pulling it closer, wrapping herself in a rare comfort she seldom allowed.
And then, her awareness rose sharply.
Soft… warm… and breathing.
Her eyes snapped open, widening slightly.
What she held was not a goose-feather pillow, nor a folded blanket. Silver hair spilled neatly over the pillow, some strands brushing against a pale neck. A calm face, eyes closed in rest, breaths steady, lips parted just faintly.
Celes.
