The grand house was unnervingly quiet.
The silence was a heavy blanket, amplifying the loneliness that had settled deep in Delia's bones since Eric had left. In her room, a single lantern cast a warm, golden circle of light on her desk, leaving the corners of the chamber in deep shadow. She held a pen in her hand, the tip hovering over a sheet of fine stationery.
She looked down at the words she had managed to write, her own handwriting looking like that of a stranger.
"… Are you doing well? I saw the news and heard the gossip that there was a fatal accident at the workshop. I hope you are managing everything. I miss…"
