Winter had finally ended. The snow that once buried rooftops and roads was beginning to melt, revealing pale, muddy earth beneath. From the window of her study, Sylvia stared intently at the outside of the castle: black trees that had stood rigid now dripped with water from their branches, and the thin mist of spring began to replace the biting cold that had suffocated the island for months.
But instead of relief, Sylvia's chest only felt heavier.
On the black stone table before her, dozens of scrolls lay scattered. Thick black ink formed lines of words that brought no comfort: the Church's forces had discovered gaps that had slipped past her surveillance.
