That night the snow fell heavier than usual. From the window of Velthya's grand chamber, the moonlight was almost invisible, veiled by thick clouds. The wind whispered, shaking the pines until their needles dropped white shards of ice to the ground.
Inside the manor, the atmosphere was different: warm, calm, and scented with the pinewood burning in the hearth. Velthya closed the brief report she had just finished reading and exhaled a long breath. Her face still carried traces of worry after Sylvia's news about the Church's attack.
She turned to where Sylvia stood by the window. Her friend looked like a living shadow: tall and slender in a black cloak, her long hair shimmering faintly, crimson eyes reflecting the flicker of the torches outside. Silent but in her silence was a weight only those who knew her long could guess.
Velthya stepped closer. "You need rest, Sylvia. Otherwise you'll drown in your own thoughts."
Sylvia turned, her expression still flat. "I don't need sleep."
