They didn't go far. The parlor opened into a smaller room that nobody had ever bothered to name.
It didn't need one. It held only what it needed to—a pair of chairs that remembered who usually sat in them, a low table marked faintly with the rings of past cups, and a wall of soft crystal that could wake up without disturbing the rest of the house.
The wine waited quietly in a dark bottle, cool from the stone beneath. Lilith pulled the cork free with two fingers, and Elowen steadied the glasses without looking up.
They didn't toast. Some nights didn't ask for a ceremony. They only asked for presence.
The first sip was deep and dry, with the kind of clean edge that made you taste the day you'd just survived.
It was enough to reset the mouth, to take the grit out of the back of the throat. Elowen held her glass loosely and glanced toward the dark crystal wall, where the feed they'd left asleep still rested. Lilith touched the surface once, and one pane blinked awake.
