Evelyn rose from the bed with a sluggish grace, the linen sheets slipping from her shoulders like water refusing to cling. Her breath felt shallow, caught between the dream world and waking.
The moonlight still lingered—faint, pale, indifferent. It spilled across the floor in thin lines, catching on the stone walls and her bare feet. Her fingers brushed against the carved wooden bedpost as she stood fully, grounding herself in the present. But her mind—her heart—remained tangled in something else.
The dream.
That voice.
It had reached inside her like a ghost returning to its old bones.
She padded across the floor in silence, the chill of the stone kissing her soles. At the window, she parted the sheer curtain with two fingers and looked out.
The sky was still cloaked in night, but hints of dawn painted the horizon in a bruised lilac haze. The stars were vanishing, one by one, not gently—but like someone had torn them down.
Her palm met the cold glass.
> "You once knew it better than your own."
That line echoed through her skull, refusing to fade.
A name. His name.
She couldn't remember it. And yet—somehow—she felt it. Like tasting something bitter and sweet and knowing you've swallowed it before.
The silence pressed in, thick and watchful. A breath held by the world.
She stayed like that for a moment longer, her forehead resting lightly against the glass, as if the cold might press the truth back into her bones.
But it didn't.
Only the echo remained—empty, aching.
Something flickered at the edge of her thoughts. A hand reaching. A promise made beneath a sky full of fire. A voice—low, rough—saying a name like it meant everything.
Her chest ached, sudden and sharp.
She drew back.
The stars were gone now.
So she turned away.
She sat down at the edge of the bed, hands curled together in her lap. Her eyes stared ahead, unfocused, her thoughts elsewhere. That name was gone again—just out of reach.
Like a scent carried away by wind.
———
The morning sun filtered weakly through the long curtains of the Black Rose Palace, brushing soft gold over the cold stone floors. Outside, the trees had shed most of their leaves. Only a few clung to branches like forgotten promises.
Evelyn was seated at the breakfast table.
The spread before her was modest—warm bread, honeyed tea, slices of seasonal fruit. Just enough. She picked at it without urgency, stirring her tea slowly, far longer than necessary.
Three girls stood respectfully to the side of the room—Cassy, Lily, and Ella—each with varying degrees of stillness and stolen glances.
Lily, as always, couldn't hold in her words for long.
Lily: "Your Highness, did you see the frost on the windows this morning? It's not even winter yet, and my toes nearly froze through my boots!"
Evelyn didn't glance up. She spread a thin layer of jam on her bread with quiet precision.
Evelyn: "Maybe your boots are the problem."
Lily: "Cassy said the same thing."
Cassy: "Because it's true. You refuse to wear the thicker ones."
Lily: "They make my legs look short."
Ella: "Lily…"
Lily: "What? Her Highness doesn't mind, do you?"
Evelyn finally looked up, meeting Lily's bright eyes. She didn't smile, but her gaze wasn't cold either.
Evelyn: "If your toes freeze off, don't expect me to lend you mine."
Lily (grinning): "Of course not, Your Highness. I wouldn't dare. Yours are far too royal."
Cassy: "So are her knives."
At that, Ella stifled a laugh while Lily tried to look chastised—but failed miserably.
A knock interrupted the moment.
Evelyn: "Come in."
The door creaked open to reveal Lora, her cheeks pink from the morning chill, a small vase of freshly cut black roses cradled in her arms. Dew still clung to the hem of her cloak and the soles of her boots.
Lora: "Forgive the interruption, Your Highness. I thought the table looked a little bare so, I brought these from the garden."
Evelyn's gaze settled on the black roses. She stared at them for a moment, unreadable.
Evelyn: "You think black roses cheer up a room?"
Lora: "No, I mean… I just thought you might like them."
A pause stretched in the space between words. Evelyn reached for a slice of bread but didn't eat it.
Evelyn: "I never said I liked them. I just didn't bother correcting anyone."
The girls exchanged puzzled glances.
Evelyn's voice wasn't sharp—just flat. Quiet. Honest.
She glanced up again, her tone softer but detached.
Evelyn: "Leave them."
Lora: "Yes, Your Highness."
Lora stepped forward, placing the vase gently in the center of the table.
Lily leaned toward Ella, whispering not nearly quietly enough.
Lily: "She never throws them away."
Cassy gave her a side glance, sharp and swift.
But Evelyn had already heard.
Evelyn (calmly): "That's because they know their place. Silent. And only blooming when everything else dies."
Silence fell like snow. Lily flushed, biting her lip, her eyes flicking to the floor.
But Evelyn had already turned back to her tea, her expression unreadable.
Evelyn (quietly): "Leave me."
The girls curtsied in unison. No one protested. Cassy lingered at the door for a brief second longer than the others, her lips pressed into a thin, thoughtful line before she, too, slipped away.
When the door clicked shut, Evelyn resumed stirring her tea, the spoon clinking gently against porcelain.
The roses sat still in their vase.
And the room returned to its silence.
___
In the afternoon,
The soft ticking of the antique clock was the only sound in Evelyn's room.
Evelyn lay stretched across the velvet couch, one arm draped lazily over her eyes to block the sunlight streaming through the tall windows. Lunch had left her content, drowsy even, and the warmth of the room was enough to lull her into an afternoon haze.
So when the quiet creak of the door reached her ears, she didn't move—just spoke, dryly.
Evelyn: "Strange. I thought you'd forgotten this place."
Edrick: "I thought you liked it better that way."
Evelyn: "Why come?"
Edrick: "Didn't realize I needed an invitation."
His voice was smoother than it should've been. Too casual for someone who clearly wasn't expected.