[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/3lIuaRz.png[/img] [sub]Collab between [@Qia] & [@c3p-0h] Location: The Royal Home[/sub] [i][h1]Part IV[/h1][/i][hr][/center] The room wasn’t large, and the sound of the door clicking shut wasn’t loud. Still, it seemed to echo through the space with finality. Amaya’s eyes were still locked on the other woman in the room. She brought her hands together in her lap, trying to hold onto the warmth Flynn had pressed into her. The silence stretched between them like the distance. [color=d15e5e]“Elara…”[/color] Her name sounded as fragile as Amaya felt. The muted thud of the door settling into place reverberated through Elara’s frame, an understated finality that carved itself into the room’s fabric, leaving behind a hollow stillness weighted with unsaid things. She didn’t move, her gaze still fixed beyond the window, though the reflection in the glass betrayed the way Amaya’s eyes never left her. Elara’s throat constricted against the rising tide of emotion, her fingers coiling involuntarily against the windowsill. She had anticipated relief when he left, some return to the tenuous balance they had once shared. But instead, the absence only sharpened the edges of everything she had tried to push aside. Amaya’s voice drifted across the space between them, the syllables of her name delivered soft and tentative. Elara considered ignoring it for a heartbeat—maintaining the fragile walls she had erected, letting duty speak louder than longing. But the raw sincerity embedded within that single name unspooled something tightly wound within her. Her grip loosened on the sill, and slowly, Elara turned. She met Amaya’s gaze, and for a fleeting moment, the mask she wore cracked—just enough for something tender, something weary, to slip through. But it was gone just as quickly, replaced with a measured expression, cool but not unkind. The quiet inhale that followed steadied her, and when she spoke, her voice lacked the crisp austerity she had wielded so efficiently before. “[color=royalblue]You should rest,[/color]” Elara said. “[color=royalblue]I’ll stay... if you want me to.[/color]” The offer was cautious, tentative—a bridge extended, though not without reservations. She wouldn’t let herself fall so easily back into the role she once held, not without some assurance that she wouldn’t be cast aside again. But for now, in the quiet space between them, it was enough to let the choice be Amaya’s. Her eyes lingered on Amaya’s hands, still curled in her lap, clutching at something unseen. And despite herself, despite the ache that hadn’t yet settled, Elara took a step closer. Not quite closing the distance, but enough to show she hadn’t entirely retreated. Not yet. “[color=royalblue]Just for a little while,[/color]” she added, softer still. Amaya wanted to shrink away as Elara approached. She wanted to reach for her. She wanted to hold onto that brief flicker of emotion in her friend’s eyes (her friend, she wanted her [i]friend[/i]) and beg her to stay, just as much as she wanted Elara to leave, if only so she wouldn’t have to fear the inevitable loss anymore. [i]Wanting[/i]. That was always the issue, wasn’t it? [color=d15e5e]“If [i]I[/i] want you to…”[/color] Her voice was softer, with less distance to travel between them. Her hands grew cold. [color=d15e5e]“Would that be the only reason to do it?”[/color] Elara’s lips parted, but no immediate answer came. Instead, her gaze dropped to Amaya’s hands, her fingers twitching with the impulse to reach out. But hesitation stilled her. “[color=royalblue]I am at a loss,[/color]” she ultimately confessed, the confession seeping from her lips with an understated, poignant candour. “[color=royalblue]Would it even bear significance?[/color]” Amaya’s eyebrows pulled together, stunned that Elara had even asked. Elara’s tone bore no trace of provocation; rather, it resonated with the fatigue of one who has surrendered so much of her essence that the demarcation between obligation and self has become indistinct. She inhaled deeply and then lifted her gaze once more to meet Amaya’s. “[color=royalblue]I can’t be what you want me to be, Amaya. Not anymore.[/color]” [color=d15e5e][i]Anymore?[/i][/color] But despite the resignation in her tone, Elara took another small step forward, her presence lingering within reach—within an arm's reach, suffusing the space between them with warmth, should Amaya choose to dissolve the distance. “[color=royalblue]But I can stay,[/color]” she offered again, her voice quieter, gentler, a quiet plea wrapped in something resembling hope. “[color=royalblue]If that is your desire.[/color]” With every step Elara took, Amaya was pulled towards her, sitting up inch by inch as her body longed to close the distance — to return to what was familiar. What was [i]safe.[/i] [color=d15e5e]“My…”[/color] The word was little more than a whisper as Amaya tried to understand, doubts and fears creeping through her like frost along a riverbank. She shook her head, a tear finally escaping her. [color=d15e5e]“What have I ever desired from you, but… [i]you?[/i]”[/color] Amaya’s whole life had been masks and careful control. But being with Elara had felt [i]honest.[/i] A decade of memories flashed through Amaya’s mind. Shared smiles, whispered secrets, hands gripped tightly around each other as they weathered the palace chill… Elara had made up so much of Amaya’s world, been one of the few flowers that had survived against the haunting winter storms. …Had it been real? Had Amaya misunderstood? Had her words been so unforgivable that she’d [i]ruined[/i] the only love she had left? Something fractured in Amaya’s eyes as she looked at the only friend she’d ever had. It was learning of her mother’s death and falling to pieces, because Elara wasn’t there to hold her together. It was venturing to her friend’s home for the first time after a lonely, grief-filled week apart, only to find it empty and cold. But this time it wasn’t just poor timing or happenstance – instead it was [i]Amaya’s fault[/i]. [color=d15e5e]“Elara, I’m [i]sorry[/i],”[/color] she tried again, her voice breaking on the word. It escaped her in a cloud, too small and quick to grasp. For a fleeting breath, it appeared as though Elara would remain speechless, allowing the stillness to unfurl like a gossamer veil. Yet, in the tenderest of moments, she daringly advanced, as if testing the very essence of the earth beneath her soles. Her fingers trembled, suspended within the air, tantalizingly close to Amaya yet restrained, as she drew forth an exhalation she hadn’t recognized she had kept at bay. “[color=royalblue]You don’t have to keep apologizing,[/color]” she murmured, each syllable laced with an ache too profound to name. “[color=royalblue]I know you’re sorry. I know.[/color]” And yet, despite the certainty of those words, the hollowness in her chest remained, a lingering spectre that knowing alone could not exorcise. “[color=royalblue]But... I need to know if you want me here because you need me, or because you want me.[/color]” The query was laden with unresolved longing, as she finally allowed her fingertips to skim across Amaya's arm. “[color=royalblue]If it’s just duty—if I’m merely…[/color]” Her voice faltered, and Elara swallowed against the knot rising in her throat. “[color=royalblue]If I’m just something you’re afraid of losing because it’s all you’ve ever known—[/color]” Her breath hitched, and with a subtle shake of her head, she let the unspoken words settle like dust between them. Softer now, the next words slipped out, scarcely more than a whisper, “[color=royalblue]Then I can’t do this anymore.[/color]” It was as if Elara had struck her. Her voice was gentle, wrapping around Amaya so carefully, but she felt the words tighten and constrict around her throat. The stark reminder of how small Amaya’s world had been – how small [i]she[/i] was, confined to a handful of faces and the boundaries of the Moonlit Palace – was harsh, in Elara’s soft voice. Amaya wasn’t a person. She was a doll with hollow eyes, waiting to see who would pick her up. She was a covered portrait, hidden in storage to keep her frame clean and her colors pretty. She was a shadow on the wall, silent and intangible. She was a Princess. Not two hours ago, Elara had been the last person remaining who made Amaya feel like she could be more than that. Amaya knew the words to say. She knew her role. She’d always been good at saying the correct thing, if only to guard herself and keep the consequences of her father’s displeasure at bay. But she’d never known how to guard herself from Elara. They were so close – Elara’s soft fingers on her arm, her eyes clear and grieving. For a moment, she thought of other fingers – of warmth. Of holding and being held. Of [i]wanting[/i]. Another tear slipped down Amaya’s cheek. [color=d15e5e]“I don’t think I know the difference.”[/color] The whispered confession was little more than the air shared between them now. [color=d15e5e][i]Stay. Please stay.[/i][/color] At Amaya's murmured revelation, Elara’s breath caught in her throat. Her stare melted into a tender haze. Still, her fingertips lingered upon Amaya’s arm, as if she could etch the delicate boundary between obligation and yearning within the silken warmth of her flesh. “[color=royalblue]I know,[/color]” she said, her voice carrying with it the quiet heartbreak of someone who had spent years waiting—hoping—that Amaya might truly see her one day. “[color=royalblue]I think... I’ve always known.[/color]” A breath, heavy with resignation, slipped past her lips as she withdrew her hand. The chasm between them yawned open with uncanny swiftness, as if time itself had momentarily faltered - though Elara remained rooted to her spot, unyielding to the subtle yet undeniable currents that drew her apart from the inside out. Like a lotus blooming in tranquil waters, her posture adapted with an air of quiet acceptance, surrendering to the inescapable truth: she could no longer evade the role assigned to her. “[color=royalblue]I’ll stay. As I always have,[/color]” she murmured, the words, though gentle, bearing the weight of something that had been tested by time and longing and still remained. Though her expression remained an unshaken mask, there was a shift in the depths of her gaze—a quiet transformation that could not be undone. The tender warmth that once illuminated her eyes had been tempered, subdued into something calmer, something resolute. No longer did they shimmer with unchecked devotion, freely given and rarely received; instead, they held the quiet endurance of one who had learned to guard what remained of herself. “[color=royalblue]You should rest,[/color]” Elara intoned for the third and final time, her tone reverting to decorum that had long been forsaken in their cherished interludes. Amaya had always known that she’d lose Elara one day, if only because she loved her. She just thought that there’d be… [i]more[/i] to it. Her father’s oppressive presence. Screaming. A punishing grip holding her down. Something to rage against. Blood. She had mistakenly thought that Elara would be taken, like her mother was. She couldn’t look at – at her [i]handmaiden[/i]. Tears flowed down her cheeks even as she tried desperately to retreat into herself. Her walls were rubble at her feet, the aftershocks sending tremors through her body. Her chin was high. Her back was straight. It all felt feeble and pointless, but Amaya didn’t know what to do but try and hide, even if she knew she couldn’t. She couldn’t match Elara’s graceful composure, even if she saw the weariness and felt the pain in the shared space between them. Ten years sat between them, echoing through Amaya with every quake that shook her. The pitcher beside her had completely frozen. Frost crept across the window behind Elara. Everything about Amaya – her body, her voice, her tears, the very air that she chilled – betrayed her. But she knew the words. Amaya knew her role – finally. [color=d15e5e]“Thank you Elara.”[/color] The name cut Amaya from the inside out. Her voice was tattered when it left her. Small. Hollow, like her. [color=d15e5e]“But I think I’d like to be alone.”[/color] It was a lie. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry, to [i]grieve[/i], and come apart because her own shattered edges were cutting into her and bleeding her dry. And she could no longer do that with Elara. [color=d15e5e]“And I’m sure I’m not the only one who needs rest,”[/color] she whispered. It was the last gift Amaya could offer her – the opportunity to leave, and see to her own wounds that she concealed better than Amaya did hers. She didn’t know if she was pushing Elara away, or letting her go. But the difference wouldn’t matter, in the end. [color=d15e5e]“Please request an escort from the guards to see you home safely.”[/color]