The morning sun struggled through the veil of mist, casting ghostly light across the palace grounds. Lyrielle stood in the northern garden, hands clasped tightly, as though she could physically hold herself together against the ache swelling in her chest. Seloria had been summoned to the northern towers by her father, a journey that would take days, perhaps weeks, and the thought of her absence already carved hollows into Lyrielle's heart.
The garden felt unbearably silent without Seloria's laughter. Even the roses seemed to bow in mourning, their petals heavy with dew and sorrow. Lyrielle wandered along the winding paths, her fingers brushing the moss-covered stone walls, tracing patterns in the dew as if they might lead her back to Seloria.
When she reached the cliff's edge, she found a small envelope lying upon a stone, its seal unbroken. Lyrielle's hands shook as she lifted it, recognising the delicate curve of Seloria's script before even breaking the wax.
"Meet me where the shadows speak, where the sea listens to hearts," the letter read.
A shiver ran down her spine. It was a promise, a whisper of hope threaded through the inevitability of separation. Lyrielle pressed the paper to her chest, imagining Seloria's hand resting over hers, imagining the warmth of her presence as though she were still there.
The wind tugged at her cloak, carrying with it the faint scent of salt and roses—the signature of Seloria. Lyrielle closed her eyes and breathed it in, committing it to memory. "I will find you," she whispered to the mist, "in every shadow, every sigh, every secret the sea keeps."
For hours, she remained at the cliff, listening to the waves and feeling the hollow of absence. Though Seloria was gone, her presence lingered, an invisible tether binding Lyrielle's heart to hers.
And somewhere, beyond the horizon and the thickening mist, Seloria felt the same pull, the same unspoken longing, as though distance and duty could never sever the fragile, luminous bond they had formed beneath the moonlit skies.