The hall outside Elowen's room was empty, save for the flickering sconce lights that painted the stone walls with soft shadows.
Caelum tapped twice on the wooden frame.
From inside, a whisper: "You're late."
He opened the door just wide enough to slip through. Elowen stood by her window, already cloaked in a soft gray shawl, hair half-pinned and half-loose — like she hadn't quite decided whether she wanted to be elegant or comfortable.
"I had to convince the steward I was brushing up on my court etiquette," Caelum said, grinning. "Which I technically am. Just… in the library."
Elowen turned, eyes shining with a thrill she didn't dare admit aloud. "You remember where it is?"
"More or less."
They crept out like children sneaking cookies, down staircases and past sleeping portraits that seemed to glance sideways at them. The grand hallway on the third floor turned darker as they went, the sconces fewer and the silence heavier.
The door to the old wing hadn't been opened in years. Dust clung to the hinges, and ivy snuck in through the cracked windows above.
Caelum pushed gently. The door moaned like an old ghost and opened.
The library was still there — vast, towering shelves of forgotten stories and cracked leather spines. Motes of dust swirled in the slanted moonlight, and the hearth at the far end — surprisingly — still held faint warmth.
Elowen stepped in slowly, her breath catching.
"I didn't think this place was real," she whispered.
Caelum moved beside her. "Why wouldn't it be?"
"Because it's beautiful. And things that are beautiful don't usually stay near me."
He looked at her — truly looked — then took her hand. "Maybe this one was waiting for you."
She didn't pull away.
They wandered the rows in silence, reading aloud the ridiculous titles of ancient tomes — How to Charm a Chimera… Noble Etiquette for the Negligent… The Art of Dramatic Pauses (Elowen read that one in a deliberately slow, overly dramatic voice until they both collapsed laughing on the reading cushions).
It wasn't grand or world-changing. But it was honest.
At some point, Caelum pulled out a worn children's book with faded illustrations. "I think I read this in the novel," he muttered before realizing what he'd said.
Elowen blinked. "You… what?"
"I mean, uh—this looks like one I remember," he stammered.
She gave him a curious look, but didn't press. Instead, she opened the book and traced a finger along the drawing of a boy sitting under a glowing tree.
"I used to dream about this," she murmured. "Even though I'd never seen it before. Do you think dreams can remember things before we do?"
"…Maybe some part of us knows what we'll need. And gives us stories to hold onto until then."
She looked up, startled — not by his words, but by how gently he said them. And maybe… by how much she wanted to believe them.
A hush settled between them.
Then—rustle.
A gust of air from nowhere flipped the pages of the book in her hands. One, two, three—then it stopped. A line was underlined in faint ink, like someone had drawn it only seconds ago.
"Wherever the tree bloomed, no shadows could remain for long."
They both stared.
"Was that you?" she asked.
Caelum shook his head.
Silence again. Then Elowen laughed — soft and breathless, like it startled even her.
"Well," she said, closing the book. "Then maybe I should stay near you more often."
His heart gave a thud at that — not a dramatic one, but the kind that felt very real.
They stayed in the library until the moon rose high. They didn't notice when Caelum's notebook, left in his cloak pocket, warmed slightly — or how a new line etched itself into the latest page:
She smiled without fear today.Unwritten does not mean forgotten.
When they finally left, Elowen walked closer than before, her hand occasionally brushing his. She said nothing about it — and neither did he — but something had shifted.
And the garden, far away and quiet, bloomed a single white flower in the dark.