Elara
The music hall, grand and quiet now, still held onto last night’s energy like the memory of a storm in still waters.
I sat alone, the same silk gown from the night before pooling around me like water. My fingers hovered above the keys, not pressing down, not playing just remembering. The notes of the song still stirred in my chest, thick with sorrow and truth. They had come from someplace far beyond Seraphina’s memories. They had come from me.
From Elara.
My heartbeat was steady, but my breath wasn’t. My eyes stung faintly, but I didn’t cry. I had already shed all my tears in silence, in fire, in death. Now I only listened to the silence after music, the place where pain became art.
The air smelled faintly of rose oil and polished wood. A trace of burning wax still clung to the
