[center][img]https://i.postimg.cc/660ZHgx8/Elara-Moonshadow.png[/img][/center]
[sub]Interactions/Mentions: [@c3p-0h] Amaya, [@The Muse] Flynn [/sub][hr]
[indent]Elara lingered hesitantly by the door, her fingers delicately resting against the robust wooden frame as Kira's footsteps gradually receded into the encroaching darkness beyond. The redhead’s ominous warning echoed resoundingly within the confines of her mind, stirring a tumultuous knot of anxiety deep in her core. What precisely did Kira intend with her cryptic words? Was it simply a caution, or had she discerned something more urgent, something Elara had been blissfully oblivious to? 

For a moment, curiosity ignited within her thoughts as she pondered who this woman truly was. That glimmer of familiarity, intensified by the fervent urgency in her tone and the poignant sorrow in her gaze, hinted that she was not merely a stranger moving through Elara's life. Elara bit down on her lip, lost in contemplation, yet she swiftly dismissed those musings. Amaya was still mending and the uncertainty regarding whether Kira would actually fulfill her request remained up in the air, after all. 

Elara turned away from the door and slid the bolt into place with a deliberate [i]click[/i], her hands quivering with an amalgamation of emotions. “[color=royalblue]Secured,[/color]” she whispered gently to herself, her voice barely breaking the silence of the room; it felt as if she were trying to convince herself that this small act could guard them against any lurking dangers outside. Her gaze drifted toward the fireplace, where the flames frolicked, casting undulating shadows that danced across the walls. Before it, Amaya stirred minutely in her slumber, her features twitching as if she were ensnared in a vivid reverie. Elara hastily traversed the room, kneeling beside the Princess to wrap the blankets snugly around her delicate shoulders.

“[color=royalblue]You’re safe here,[/color]” she whispered, even as Kira’s ominous words gnawed at her conscience, planting seeds of doubt that resolutely refused to dissipate. Her gaze risked a glance at the window, where her pale blue eyes caught a fleeting manifestation of her reflection in the glass. Outside, the snow glistened enchantingly beneath the moon's gentle luminescence, appearing tranquil yet deceptively serene. Nonetheless, the disquieting sensation that someone—or something—was scrutinizing them remained, an unwelcome shadow that clung to her. 

Suddenly, the serene atmosphere shattered as the unmistakable sound of frantic footsteps raced toward her abode, a relentless pounding resounding against the door. Elara gasped, her heart hammering wildly within her chest, as a surge of shock and fear coursed through her veins. However, her apprehensions were swiftly alleviated when she recognized Flynn’s unmistakable voice resonating from the other side of the door. A wave of relief washed over her like a comforting blanket, prompting her to cast a fleeting glance at Amaya, who remained entirely undisturbed in her peaceful slumber.

With newfound purpose, Elara hastened toward the door, shifting the bolt aside to create just enough space for the entrance to yield. There stood Flynn, his silhouette stark against the frosty night sky, looking breathless and slightly dishevelled, as though he had rushed to her side without a moment's respite. His cheeks flushed pink from the biting cold and the vigorous exertion of sprinting, while an intense urgency sparked in his eyes, mirroring the very feelings that had earlier gripped Elara in their icy clutches.

Elara carefully observed Flynn as, upon spotting his wife’s frame behind her,  he passed her and entered the cottage, his very presence suffusing the cramped space with an effortless assurance that both soothed and disquieted her. He had perpetually exuded this aura of unspoken dominion, an implicit ability to captivate attention without any overt displays. Yet, as he advanced toward Amaya, his gaze entirely affixed on her, Elara felt that familiar, delicate ache blossom in her chest once more akin to the sensations she had grappled with previously.

As Flynn knelt beside Amaya, a gentleness emanated from him that should have provided solace. His fingers delicately brushed away an errant wisp of hair from the Princess’s brow, hovering momentarily before withdrawing, and his voice, now a tender murmur as he uttered her name, conveyed an intimate comprehension that Elara found impossible to overlook. The slight way in which Amaya stirred, almost as if instinctively gravitating toward him even in the depths of slumber, only intensified the growing knot of worry nestled within Elara’s abdomen.

Still positioned near the entrance, Elara kept her hands interlaced before her, a gesture of both restraint and observation. Gratitude washed over her—a profound acknowledgment that Flynn had arrived, that Kira had done as she’d asked. Yet beneath this gratitude lurked an unwelcome pang, a quiet realization that she remained at the periphery of a bond that felt deeply intimate and unarticulated between them—an acute sense of exclusion from a connection that flickered more brilliantly in their presence. 

[i]Almost like I do.[/I]




“[color=royalblue]She’s stable now,[/color]” Elara finally said. “[color=royalblue]I’ve done what I can, but she’ll need rest to fully recover.[/color]”[/indent]