[center][img]https://i.postimg.cc/660ZHgx8/Elara-Moonshadow.png[/img][/center]
[sub]Interactions/Mentions: [@c3p-0h] Amaya [/sub][hr]
[indent]Elara does not fight it. She does not question it. She simply nods a barely perceptible movement before offering a measured, formal bow—one Amaya has not seen from her in years.

“[color=royalblue]As you wish, Princess.[/color]”

She does not linger, nor does she reach for Amaya. If she hears the tremor in Amaya’s voice, she does not acknowledge it. Her steps are silent as she moves toward the door, every motion controlled. 

But at the threshold, she hesitates.

The weight of a decade unfurls within her, pressing into the marrow of her bones, settling like dust in a chamber left untouched, forgotten. 
It clings to her skin, to her breath, to the space between them.

Still…she does not turn. She merely bows her head once more, murmuring, “[color=royalblue]
Rest well.[/color]” And then, she is gone.

[hr] 
Elara had walked far enough that the cabin was no longer within reach. Only a distant ember remained, a sliver of firelight trembling through the skeletal branches, too feeble to offer warmth. The snow crunched beneath her steps, but even that fragile sound was swallowed by the vast, unmoving hush of the night. The world stretched wide and empty, a canvas of silence that neither beckoned nor forbade.

She had not thought about where she was going, only that she needed to leave. That she needed space. That she needed—

The thought fractured before it could fully take shape, splintering beneath the unspoken truth that lurked in its wake.

She came to a stop.

The air around her was still, cold and unmoving, as if the world itself had frozen in place, waiting for her to acknowledge what she had done.

What she had lost.

Her hands trembled before she could stop them. Slowly, carefully, she curled them into fists at her sides, feeling the fabric of her gloves strain against her grip. She had spent years mastering restraint, tempering emotion into something refined, something quiet. But now, beneath the vast expanse of the winter sky, there was no audience. No role to uphold.

Just her.

And the hollow ache that had taken root in her chest.

A breath slipped from her lips, pale and weightless against the night.

She turned her gaze over her shoulder, the distant glow of the cabin a steadfast reminder of what she had just relinquished. 

Had Amaya moved? Was she still sitting where Elara had left her?

She had not looked back as she left.

She had wanted to. She had wanted to so badly that it had taken every ounce of discipline to keep walking, to ignore the pull of something that had once been [i]hers[/i]. But Amaya had made her choice.

And Elara had made hers.

The wind stirred, carrying with it the scent of pine and frost, a whisper against her skin. It was an old kind of cold, the kind that seeped deep into the marrow, settling into the spaces that warmth no longer occupied.

Her chest rose with a slow inhale.

Then, with a quiet certainty, she turned fully away from the cabin.

“[color=royalblue]Stand back,[/color]” she murmured, her voice barely carrying over the night air.

One of the guards beside her shifted slightly at her words, hesitant. “[b]Lady Elara?[/b]”

“[color=royalblue]I’ll call for you when I’m ready.[/color]” Her tone remained even, leaving no room for question.

The guards exchanged glances, but after a pause, they obeyed. Their footsteps receded, the faint rustling of their cloaks fading into the distance.

Only when they were gone did Elara move again.

She took another step. Then another.

Then, finally, she let herself break.

The first tear was silent.

It slipped free, warm against the cold of her skin, and disappeared into the snow below.

Then another.

And another.

She closed her eyes.

Her breath hitched, and for a brief, aching moment, she almost brought her hands up to stifle the sound. To bury it, to swallow it whole.

But there was no one to hear her now.

A slow, uneven exhalation escaped, dispersing into the ether without purpose.

The snow beneath her boots was soft, pristine, barely touched except for the indentations where she stood. It reminded her of how easily things could be erased, how quickly footsteps could be covered by the next snowfall, how silence could consume anything if one let it.

Had Amaya already begun to forget the warmth between them?

The thought cut deep, twisting in her chest like a merciless serration. 

Lifting her gaze to the infinite expanse before her, she beheld the night—a vast, indifferent canvas, speckled with stars that glimmered without concern. The moon, a silent observer of her despair, offered no solace, and Elara's shoulders slumped, her form curling inward as if to envelop the weight of her sorrow.

The wind picked up again, sweeping past her in a quiet caress, as if the world itself sought to bear some of the weight for her.

It was not enough.

But it would have to be.
[/indent]