Roisin
It had been a week since I last saw Olivine.
A week since the argument, since the look of wounded pride and disappointment in his eyes as he walked away from me. That image refused to leave me; it haunted my nights, slipping into my dreams like a shadow, and lingered in my waking thoughts like a wound I couldn’t stop picking at. He hadn’t come to my room once. No note, no word, no smile flashing at me in the halls. Not even a passing glimpse of him anywhere in this endless palace.
Perhaps he was avoiding me. Perhaps I was avoiding him. Or perhaps this palace with its endless corridors and echoing chambers had simply swallowed him whole. It was large enough, cold enough, easy enough for someone who wanted to disappear to do so without much effort.
And it wasn’t only Olivine. Visa
