The snow continued to fall, fine, silent, almost reverent. As if the whole world knew not to disturb this fragile moment.
Catarina remained motionless, her breath suspended, her hand clenched on the edge of the piano. She wanted to scream. To run away. Or simply disappear into this setting that was too perfect, too frozen, saturated with something she could no longer name.
Sylus remained standing, his shoulders slumped, his head slightly bowed: a fallen king in his own kingdom. The dying fire cast moving shadows across his face; two faces seemed to coexist within him, that of the man she had known, and the one she wished she had never seen.
"Catarina..." he said at last. His voice trembled, barely, but enough to shake the air around them.
She took a step back.
"Don't say my name like that."
He looked up, a flash of surprise or reproach in his eyes, she couldn't tell.
"Like what?"
"Like you still have the right to."
Silence fell, brutal and sharp. The flames seemed to recede in the hearth. All that could be heard was the stubborn ticking of the clock.
Sylus ran a hand over his face, exhausted, as if to erase the world.
"I never lied to you."
She laughed, a dry, nervous laugh, almost incredulous.
"Are you kidding? It was all a lie."
He closed his eyes and clenched his fists.
"No. What we had... it wasn't a lie."
"But it was a mistake," she interrupted, her voice trembling.
"Yes..." he admitted. "A magnificent mistake."
The word hit her like a slap in the face. Magnificent. She backed away again, tears blurring her vision.
"You call that magnificent? What you did... what you are?"
He didn't answer. And that silence, more than anything else, broke her heart.
So Catarina turned on her heel. She climbed the stairs four at a time, her steps heavy and disordered, a flight without direction. The bedroom door slammed behind her.
Then, nothing. Sylus remained alone in the living room, his hands empty, his breath short.
He sat down on the piano stool, rested his forehead against the cold keys, and whispered, almost to himself:
"Forgive me, little light."
Outside, the wind picked up. Snowflakes hit the windows like lost birds. And the house, once again, fell silent, bearing the weight of what had just been broken.