The afternoon was unraveling slowly,like a thread of light pulled for too long.The sky, a flat shade of gray, hesitated between snow and dusk.
Catarina sat in the sunroom,a book open on her lap.She hadn't turned a single page in an hour.
Outside, the garden was fading beneath the snow.The fir trees bowed gently under its white weight.Everything was quiet. Too quiet.
Through the glass, she saw the reflection of the house, its pale walls, the still piano, the extinguished candles.She wondered if silence could have a scent.This one smelled like cold wax and damp wood.
"Reading something interesting?"
She startled.The voice behind her froze her spine.Sylus stood in the doorway,a scarf around his neck,looking more tired than she had ever seen him.
"I'm trying," she said, without turning.
He stepped inside, slowly.The floor creaked beneath his weight.Daylight was fading,stretching long blue shadows across the ground.
"Althéa's asleep?" she asked.
"Yes. She had a headache."
He moved closer to the window,pressed his palm against the glass.
"It feels like the whole world's stopped," he murmured.
"Maybe it's waiting for us to start breathing again," she replied.
Silence fell, thick, almost tender.The words they didn't dare speak hung in the air,like dust in the light.
Catarina closed her book and set it down on the table.She could feel his gaze, calm, precise, unbearable.
"I wish I could erase certain things," he said at last.
"You can't erase what you understand too late."
He nodded slowly.Then, in a lower voice:
"Do you hate me?"
She turned toward him.Her eyes searched for his but didn't find them right away.
"No," she whispered. "It's worse than that."
He froze, saying nothing.And in that stillness, everything unsaid stretched between them, a fragile thread, one breath away from breaking.
Somewhere in the house, a clock struck the hour.The day went dark.Their shadows merged for an instant on the wallbefore the light disappeared completely.