The evening settled over the estate with a quiet heaviness, the fading light slipping through tall windows in muted gold, though the calm it offered did not reach the room where breath lingered between life and loss.
Elara sat beside the bed, her posture still, her fingers resting near Sarah's hand without touching, as though even the smallest contact might disturb something fragile that had not yet chosen to stay.
The silence within the chamber stretched long and thin, broken only by the faint, uneven rhythm of breath that did not promise survival, yet had not surrendered to absence.
Her gaze remained fixed upon Sarah's face, tracing every faint movement, every flicker beneath closed lids, as though will alone could anchor her there.
"…don't you dare," Elara whispered softly.
Her voice trembled.
Not loudly.
But enough.
Her fingers curled faintly against the edge of the bed, the tension subtle yet present, betraying the control she held over everything except this.
