Windsor's POV
The mechanism of the chest released with a soft metallic whisper, but the sound reverberated through my entire being like thunder.
A single piece of paper lay within, folded with care and weathered by time. The edges had turned golden, fragile as butterfly wings. My fingers shook as I reached for it. The parchment felt delicate against my skin, as if it had been patiently waiting decades for this moment. I held it before me, my breath caught in my throat. Did I dare?
The courage wasn't there yet.
I wasn't prepared for this.
But an inner voice urged me forward. You must.
I exhaled slowly. Then I unfolded it.
Two distinct styles of handwriting danced across the page, chaotic and overlapping in places. One flowed like water, graceful and smooth. The other cut sharp angles, as if pressed into the paper with urgency and anticipation. Both seemed to radiate pure joy, as though their love had poured directly onto the page through their pens.
