Seamus slipped his hands into his pockets as he walked toward Madeline's domain. The space was always vast, an endless library that should have felt cold, yet never did.
Warmth lingered in the air, subtle and familiar. Light poured down from the circular ceiling, filtered through stained glass that shifted colors with Madeline's moods.
This time, the glass depicted 'The Creation of Adam'.
He let out a low whistle, appreciating the detail, the near-touch frozen in light. Madeline's voice echoed across the shelves before he could say anything.
"What do you need, Seamus? If you want to return to the North, my mirror is not ready." Her tone sharpened. "That damn wench keeps asking for the impossible."
"You mean Isolde?"
He turned and spotted Madeline in her usual place by the window. Tea and dessert rested neatly on the table beside her.
Sunlight filtered in lazily, stirred by a gentle breeze that made the curtains sway. She was reading, posture relaxed, expression unreadable.
