Aria's room was bathed in pale light, as if even the moon hesitated to comfort her that night.
She had come home without a word, obeying Roy more out of reflex than conviction. And now, she was there, alone, her hands clenched on her knees, her eyes lost in the void.
She kept replaying the scene again and again.
Roy's voice — strong, protective, almost trembling:
> "Go home!"
And Wilfred… that dignified silence, that wounded gaze he had given her — like a farewell one cannot bring themselves to speak.
— "He didn't say anything…" she whispered into the darkness. "Nothing to defend himself."
She rose and walked to the small window. There, in the distance, stood the dark treetops of the forest. The domain of the cursed king.
> Was it a mistake… to leave him there, alone under those accusations?
She placed a hand over her chest. Something tugged inside her. An invisible thread, yet strong, bound her to Wilfred. She hadn't imagined that warmth, that flutter when her hand brushed his.
> "Why… why does my heart beat so fast when I think of him?"
She closed her eyes and whispered his name:
— "Wilfred…"
Silence answered her. But the silence felt heavy… as if it were listening.