Zaroth watched her, his eyes fixed on her lips as she smiled widely, pushing her hands forward so that he could sign as well.
He took the paper, his gaze settling on her signature—written in bold cursive, stylish yet elegantly breathtaking. The ink curved across the page with a graceful confidence that seemed to mirror the woman before him.
His gaze shifted to the other space meant for him. Slowly, he placed the paper on the table. Carefully, he dipped the pen into the ink, the dark red liquid clinging to the nib. But then his body stilled for a fraction of a second at the sound of her soft hum.
He raised his head.
There she was—smiling widely, her hands tucked behind her back as her head moved slightly from side to side, almost as if she were dancing to the quiet, unknown melody she hummed.
The sound was soft, warm, and oddly lively in the otherwise still room, blending with the faint crackle of candlelight and the subtle scent of ink and parchment.
