The celebration came to an end and, one by one, the elves began to return to their homes. Lloyd and his brothers did the same, still carrying the sting of Ryven's words.
After a while, she seemed to come to a decision.
Long legs swung over the edge of the bed, feet slipping into the soft slippers waiting beside it.
Mireille woke up feeling thirsty, her throat unbearably dry. She reached for the bedside side table only to find the glass empty. She passed briefly before quietly slipping out of the room and closing the door behind her.
The corridor was dim, illuminated only by faint streaks of moonlight filtering through the windows. Shadows stretched along the walls, blurring the edges of the narrow passage. As she approached the stairs, the light thinned, unable to reach the lower floor, leaving the space below submerged in darkness.
The darkness felt deep, like the opened jaws of a monster, laying in wait for its prey to deliver itself.
