The air in this wooden cottage of Merlin's was peculiarly soft, as if it knew that the three people sitting around the little table had storms inside their hearts. The sun of the late afternoon pushed its way through the cracks in the wall to create soft golden threads along the floor. John sat silent, his hands flexing and releasing on his knees. Elsa leaned into the cushions Merlin had placed beneath her. Her skin was pale, but her eyes—those wounded, deep eyes—held something new, something which had been absent since the moment she fell into the Domain's trauma.
The great wizard himself stood near the window, his fingers rubbing lightly at his temples. When he exhaled, his beard trembled, the worry of an old father written across every line on his face.
"Elsa," he finally said in a low voice, "you must tell me everything. Whatever happened-whatever hurt you-I should know. I cannot help if you lock yourself in silence.
