* * *
Rain drips from the eaves and splashes the window box outside my window. Washed clean, blooms glow bright against the grey sky.
I curl on my bed, wrapped in one of Elsa’s knitted shawls. The elf brought dinner, but it grows cold on its tray. A letter lies on the floor, slipped under the door by Sam. He said nothing, but I knew his footsteps on the stairs. Know he still waits outside the door.
In spite of the weather, Bertrand and Liam work the garden. I hear them passing back and forth along the rows, turning soft earth over the seeds of a mid-spring crop. Bertrand keeps a merry commentary. Liam ventures an occasional song. Below, in the kitchen, Gerta and Elsa speak in low voices, and the door to the professor’s study shuts with a discreet snick.
A tightness unravels in my chest, and I close my eyes against the tears.