The room was dim, lit only by an oil lamp on the small table in the corner. Heavy curtains shut the window against the storm, yet the sound of the wind still seeped through howling and clawing at the walls of Velthya's house.
On the large fur-covered bed, Sylvia lay on her back. Her black gown had been removed, replaced by lighter, more comfortable clothing. Her long hair spilled out, some strands clinging damp against her cheek from the room's warmth.
She let out a long sigh.
"Ugh… too much meat," she murmured, pressing a pale hand against her stomach.
Last night, they had all laughed, toasted, and eaten as though there were no tomorrow. Velthya had gone overboard with the roasting, and Sylvia, though usually one to eat sparingly, hadn't been able to resist this time. The warmth of laughter, the bustle of companionship… something she hadn't felt in years, after so long in darkness and battle.
