The days had passed in a quiet rhythm, a lull of silence stretching between the moments of conversation. Liora could feel Dante's presence like a shadow, constant yet elusive, marking the spaces between them. At first, the tension between them had been sharp, filled with fear, curiosity, and the pull of something unspoken. But over time, something softer had started to take root—a silence that wasn't uncomfortable, but one that settled around them like an old, familiar cloak.
Liora had begun to seek out the quieter corners of Blackthorn Manor—the places where she could think without distraction. The library had become her refuge, a place of solace where she could lose herself in books and let the silence wash over her. The grand hall, bathed in the soft glow of chandeliers, felt peaceful in its stillness, a place where she could stand and simply exist without the weight of expectation.
One evening, as she sat in the library, her fingers absently tracing the edge of an old book, she heard the soft creak of the door behind her. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Dante's presence was always unmistakable, like a flicker of darkness on the edge of her vision.
"Mind if I join you?" His voice was quiet, almost tentative.
Liora glanced up, surprised to find him standing in the doorway. His expression was unreadable, but there was something about the way he looked at her—something that made her heart flutter in a way she wasn't used to.
"Of course," she said softly. "I don't mind."
He stepped into the room, his tall frame moving with an effortless grace as he settled into the chair across from her. The silence between them stretched, but it was different now—not awkward, but comfortable. They didn't need to fill it with words. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, the only sound filling the room.
"I didn't expect you to want company," Dante said after a long pause. His voice was almost casual, though there was a hint of vulnerability that made Liora pause.
"I don't mind," Liora replied, offering him a small smile. "I've grown used to the quiet, but it's nice to have someone here."
He nodded slowly, the faintest glimmer of understanding passing between them. There was a softness in his gaze that Liora hadn't noticed before, a tenderness that made her wonder if he was hiding something beneath the cool exterior he always wore.
As they sat there, they spoke little, but the silence wasn't uncomfortable. They exchanged a few words, nothing of consequence—books they had read, the strange and eerie corners of Blackthorn Manor, fleeting moments from their pasts that they both kept hidden in the shadows.
But as the evening wore on, Liora felt a subtle shift. Dante's words had become softer, his gaze lingered a little longer than usual, and when their eyes met, there was a quiet understanding between them—an unspoken connection that neither of them was ready to name.
Eventually, the fire burned low, casting a dim light in the room. The cool night air crept in through the cracks in the window, and Dante rose to leave. Liora followed his movements with her eyes, half-expecting him to say something—some farewell, some reason to retreat back into the shadows where he always seemed to hide.
But instead, he lingered for a moment, his gaze turning to the large window that framed the stars outside.
"They look different here," he said quietly, almost to himself. "The stars."
Liora joined him at the window, her heart skipping a beat as she took in the sight of the vast, endless night sky. "They're beautiful," she whispered, her voice soft.
Dante looked at her, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yes. But so far away."
There was a quiet sadness in his voice, a tone that made Liora wonder if he was speaking about more than just the stars. She thought about it for a moment, then spoke.
"I think they're closer than you think," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Dante looked at her, his dark eyes searching hers for a moment, as though considering her words. Then, he gave a small nod, his lips twitching into the faintest smile.
"Maybe," he murmured. "Maybe you're right."
For the rest of the evening, they stayed in the quiet of the library, side by side. Dante didn't speak much more, but the presence of him—his stillness, his silence—was more than enough. It wasn't the grand gestures that spoke between them, but the subtle moments. The way their gazes lingered a little too long, the small, meaningful pauses in conversation, the softening of his usually guarded expression.
The space between them seemed to shrink, the world outside falling away as they stood there, caught in the quiet understanding of it all. It wasn't love, not yet—but it was something. Something that felt as delicate and fleeting as the first star breaking through the night sky.