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The next day dawned with soft light filtering through the frosted windows, the world outside blanketed in untouched snow.
Cheska sat at the edge of her bed, her gaze fixed on a corner of the room where a bag lay partially hidden beneath a chair.
Bitterness rose in her chest like an unwelcome guest.
The bag had once held her tether to a sense of normalcy— the last book Amaranthe had given her before they were summoned.
A supposed solace during lonely nights, its absence now gnawed at her more than she cared to admit, a reminder of the pieces of herself she had lost along the way.
She rubbed her temples.
Boredom was becoming her constant companion.
Emette, busy with his own affairs, had limited her duties as his temporary assistant to late afternoons and evenings, leaving her with long, aimless days.
Even the whispers— those cryptic voices in her head —had gone silent.
