Silence reigned in the library, broken only by the distant rustle of curtains stirred by the breeze. The servant, still trembling from her audacity, finally yielded beneath the weight of shame and the solemn presence of her mistress.
She sank to her knees, hands clenched against her crumpled apron, head bowed so low that silver locks fell like a curtain over her blushing face. Her shoulders curved as though burdened by a heavy fault, and when her voice rose, it vibrated with raw sincerity:
"Forgive me, Milady. I… I let myself be carried away by my feelings. I should never have spoken such words, never imposed such impropriety upon you."
Her fingers dug harder into the fabric, knuckles whitening.
"I know I am your servant, nothing more. But I could not silence what my heart dictated. I beg… humbly, for your forgiveness."
Evelyra observed her for a long moment, standing tall in the light streaming from the high windows. Her face had returned to its mask of relentless nobility, that coldness which usually rendered her untouchable. Yet in her blue eyes gleamed a sharp, inescapable gravity.
She stepped forward, her voice falling like judgment:
"I grant you my forgiveness. But remember this: I will never tolerate such an affront again. If you truly honor me, then respect the distance between us."
The servant trembled, still kneeling. Slowly, she lifted her face, tear-stained eyes meeting her mistress's gaze. And against all odds, her lips curved into a smile—soft, insolent, almost mocking.
"I understand, Milady."
She paused, then added in a quiet but daring voice:
"And I will do it again. Even if I must beg forgiveness a hundred times."
Evelyra's eyes widened, her heart skipping a beat. She turned her head sharply, crimson flooding her cheeks—a warmth she despised feeling.
"Again?! She dares to challenge me again?!"
She inhaled deeply, fighting to restrain the storm within, then exhaled dryly:
"…You are exhausting."
Yet even in her seriousness, her tone lacked its usual sharpness—as though her words, too, faltered before that indomitable smile.
Still standing, Evelyra let her gaze wander toward the vast window of the library. Daylight poured through the panes, scattering pale shards across the polished floor and endless shelves. Her fingers tightened briefly against the edge of a table. Then, in a lower, softer voice than usual, she whispered unexpected words:
"You are… like someone I once knew."
Her voice echoed like a fragile note through the silence. Almost as a breath, she added:
"Someone I can no longer remember."
A smile touched her lips, tinged with rare melancholy—both tender and aching. In her eyes, a mist of memories drifted, as though the brilliance of the present had yielded to the shadow of the past.
Katarina's breath caught. Her heart clenched as she beheld the mingling of dignity and despair on her mistress's face. She longed to speak, to offer comfort—but her throat closed tight. No words came.
"Why? Why can I not find the words… when she suffers before me? I am here, so close, and yet… it feels as though a thousand worlds lie between us."
Her hands twisted in her apron, eyes gleaming with helplessness. Still kneeling, her heart burned to leap forward, yet no sentence worthy of the moment formed—only a suffocating silence and the unbearable sense of inadequacy before Evelyra's quiet sorrow.
Evelyra, meanwhile, remained caught between grace and fragility. She watched the filtered light with that wistful smile, a delicate veil guarding emotions too deep to expose.
And so they remained: one standing, smiling with dignity through despair, the other kneeling, heart breaking at her own powerlessness. So near in flesh, yet divided as though by irreconcilable worlds.
The silence grew heavier. Then suddenly, a tear slid down Evelyra's pale cheek. Pure and luminous, it caught the glow of stained glass, sparkling like a jewel.
In that suspended moment, she seemed almost unreal: golden hair shimmering with sunlight, her melancholy smile illuminating her face with painful perfection. She stood not as a woman, but as a goddess—fragile, human, yet of infinite beauty.
Katarina froze, breathless, hypnotized. She had never witnessed such grace, such intensity. Her heart pounded so violently she thought it might fail.
Evelyra slowly raised her hand, fingertips brushing away the tear. Her smile lingered, but it was guarded—an armor hastily rebuilt. She steadied her breath, and in a soft yet firm voice said simply:
"Leave me. For a moment."
The words were not rejection, but necessity—the need to lock away the storm within her heart.
Katarina's body screamed to remain, to close the unbearable distance. But Evelyra's gaze, luminous yet resolute, allowed no defiance.
At last, the servant bowed deeply, hands trembling.
"…As you wish, Milady."
She withdrew, leaving the noblewoman alone in the vast library, where the echo of her tear seemed still to linger.
Her shoulders quivered as she struggled for steady breath. She leaned against the door outside, sliding down until she sat on the cold floor, knees pulled to her chest, trying to contain the emotions boiling within her.
The faint click of the latch sealed Evelyra's solitude. The library returned to its silence, broken only by the whisper of curtains and the creak of ancient wood.
Evelyra stood motionless, fingers still pressed against the table's edge. Her gaze was distant, her perfect smile wilting like a flower folding into night.
She drew in a long, painful breath, lips barely whispering:
"Why… is it always your face I see? Why must being human always bring me back to you?"
Her blue eyes trembled, seas of memory swelling within them. Slowly, she approached the tall window, fingertips brushing the heavy velvet curtain, eyes lifting to the sky where the morning light stretched wide.
"I tried so hard to forget… to turn the page. Yet every word I write, every smile I force… all of it leads me back to you."
A soft, sorrowful laugh escaped her lips—not of joy, but of a soul mocking its own weakness.
"Is it you who still haunts me… or is it I who cannot let you go?"
She lowered herself into the leather chair by the reading table. The book she had sought earlier lay open, unread before her. Her fingers rested motionless on the cover, as though searching for an anchor.
A whisper fell, trembling and intimate:
"If only… you were still here."
Her eyes closed, another tear threatening. But she inhaled sharply, resisting. Her features slowly hardened back into their usual composure—the steel mask of a goddess. Straightening her back, she folded her hands neatly upon her knees and allowed silence to engulf her once more.
Then, with a calm gesture, Evelyra lifted her hand. The air shimmered faintly, as if an invisible veil had torn. Her eyes glowed with a familiar light:
> [Interdimensional Storage – Activated]
With precision, she slipped her fingers into the vaporous nothingness, retrieving an object out of place in this timeless world: a sleek, modern phone. Then, just as naturally, a small white case appeared in her palm. She opened it delicately, withdrew two wireless earbuds, and placed them in her ears with fluid grace.
A faint sigh of relief escaped her lips. Around her, the world seemed suspended, unsettled by the union of magic and technology. But for her, it had become ritual: to reach into infinity, draw forth what she desired, and retreat for a moment into music's embrace.
Settling into her chair, she began to read peacefully, melodies resonating softly in her ears.
Beyond the oak door, Katarina lingered. Her fingers tightened around the handle, yet she did not enter. Instead, she leaned against it, as though to be nearer despite the barrier between them.
A trembling breath slipped from her lips before her legs gave way. She slid down until she sat on the cold floor of the corridor, apron clutched tightly in her hands, eyes staring into the void.
"Always this same wall..." she whispered to herself.
She remembered. There had been a time when Evelyra laughed more easily, when their conversations carried warmth, almost complicity. She had believed, for a moment, that their bond was deepening. But it had only been a fragile illusion.
Even when Evelyra offered her a smile, even when she called her by her first name in passing, something always remained... an invisible barrier, an unchanging distance. As if she were only a spectator of a world in which she would never belong.
Her lips trembled with a bitter smile.
"Even then, I always felt... that I was nothing more than a shadow at her side."
Her eyes clouded for an instant, but no tears fell. She no longer had the strength. So she stayed there, motionless, her back pressed to the door, trapped in this helplessness.
She wanted to enter, to comfort her, to say she was not alone. But deep down, she knew her words would be nothing but a faint echo in her mistress's heart. Evelyra smiled before her, but that smile never truly belonged to her.
A bitter breath escaped her lips:
"What can I do... except remain here, unable to reach her?"
The silence of the corridor weighed heavily. Again, the servant felt that invisible chasm separating them, condemned to remain "almost close," but never enough.
Yet suddenly, amid this suffocating stillness, a fragile flame flickered within her. She drew a deep breath, wiped the dampness from her eyes, and straightened her back. Her legs trembled, but she forced herself to rise — to stand with the dignity Evelyra expected.
"Enough," she whispered to herself. "If I remain on the ground, I'll only confirm this distance."
She placed a hand gently against the door, as if to touch her mistress through the wood. Her features hardened with resolve, her lips curving into a faint but determined smile.
"Even if she pushes me away, even if her smile is not meant for me... I will stay. Until my last breath, I will protect her."
In her eyes shone an unwavering vow — silent love, absolute loyalty, stubborn hope. Their worlds were not the same, their universes apart... yet she would be the invisible bridge, the hand always reaching, never tiring.
"Whether she looks at me or not," she thought, tightening her apron, "I will be here. Always."
With this promise sealed in her heart, she lifted her chin, her gaze firm. Her steps resumed, slow but steady, each one an affirmation: she would no longer be a trembling shadow. She would be Evelyra's silent strength, her unshakable presence.
---
Meanwhile, in the father's office...
The room, vast and solemn, rose with a high ceiling adorned with golden moldings and faded frescoes. Heavy velvet curtains softened the daylight into a subdued glow, while the air carried the scent of beeswax, parchment, and polished wood.
Two spaces dominated the office: the massive desk at the far end, where the lord worked in authority, and at the center, a smaller area designed for discussions — a round table of precious wood surrounded by armchairs upholstered in velvet and leather, built for comfort and long conversations.
Seated behind his desk, Evelyra's father was writing with firm strokes on an official parchment. His powerful fingers guided the steel pen, while nearby, a wax seal waited, warmed in its bronze stand. Around him, shelves of grimoires, registers, and sealed scrolls stood in silent witness.
A discreet knock echoed at the door — three measured strikes.
"Enter," declared the father, without raising his head. His deep voice resonated with command.
The door opened to reveal the butler, austere in his black coat and rigid collar, his expression as impassive as carved stone. He bowed.
"Sir," he said in a controlled tone, "a visitor requests an audience."
At this, the father set down his pen with deliberate calm, letting a final drop of ink fall to the parchment. His cold, piercing eyes finally rose to his faithful servant.
"A visitor?" he repeated, one brow lifting in suspicion. "At this hour... Who dares disturb my work?"
The butler inclined his head, as if weighing his words, and replied with solemn gravity:
"It is someone you will recognize."
The man who entered had a refined face, framed by carefully kept, slightly wavy hair. His cold, piercing eyes revealed sharp intelligence, with an assurance that bordered on intimidation. A discreet smile touched his lips, more calculation than warmth. Each of his movements carried the weight of deliberate control.
"It has been a long time, William," he said.
The father blinked in surprise. "Edward?!"
"Yes," the man confirmed with calm assurance.
Recovering quickly, William gestured warmly. "Sit, please. George, prepare us tea."
The butler bowed and left with a quiet "At once, sir."
Edward settled gracefully into one of the armchairs, posture impeccable, back straight, hands clasped with composed ease. The father rose, his tall form exuding authority, and crossed the room to sit opposite him.
Edward leaned slightly forward, beginning the conversation:
"How are business matters faring?"
William exhaled, weary. "Routine. Nothing innovative. No... in fact, Evelyra is to be married."
Edward stiffened, his brows furrowing.
"My niece? Married? And my sister agreed? I'm certain this is a political union."
William's lips curved into a bitter smile as he nodded.
"Nothing escapes you. It isn't simple, but our situation has grown tense."
Edward tilted his head, voice lowering.
"You speak of the missing elves."
William's tone hardened with concern:
"If we do not act, both elves and demons will stand against us."