Zara
Saturdays at Blackwood felt different.
Not calmer. Never calm. But the noise slowed. The halls quieted, emptying into the weekend's looser schedule. Professors retreated to their towers, leaving only the echo of distant footsteps. Breakfast tasted sweeter. The morning fog clung to the windowpanes longer, grey and soft like wool, making the castle feel more homely as though the stones themselves sighed in relief at a day of rest.
I wished I could feel the same relief.
But the questions kept scratching at the inside of my skull, demanding attention.
I sat on the stone ledge of the corridor window, knees pulled up to my chest, chin resting on them as I watched faint streaks of the morning sun cut through the fog outside. Below, the training fields lay empty. Above, raven
