"I didn't think you'd drink that much," Dorian murmured, glancing down at the girl resting soundly in his arms, a soft, helpless smile tugging at his lips.
Under the early moonlight that spilled down the long corridor, only the steady sound of his footsteps echoed.
A gentle breeze swept by, causing her to stir slightly. Then, as if searching for warmth, she wrapped her arms around his neck in her sleep.
Dorian paused.
Her embrace tightened. All he had to do was lower his head — and there she was, her flushed face closer than ever.
So close he could hear her steady breathing and still catch the faint scent of wine lingering in the air.
"What am I supposed to do with you, Rosi?" he whispered, gazing at her with a tenderness he himself hadn't realized.
Before long, he reached the door of her room, where Elise was waiting, eyes wide in surprise. She had never seen her lady like this — so utterly drunk.
"Oh, my lady… how did this even happen…"
Dorian said nothing. He simply carried her over to the large bed in the center of the room.
"Take care of her. I'll return shortly."
"Yes, Your Grace."
After gently placing Rosalind down, he gave his instructions and turned to leave.
"Oh, my princess…" Elise sighed softly, shaking her head with a smile.
Rosalind was always so proper, so disciplined. Yet tonight, she had tossed every bit of etiquette aside and drank until she could barely stand — a rare sight indeed.
Sometime later, just as Elise finished tending to her mistress and was about to leave, Dorian returned.
"Your Grace."
"Thank you, Elise. You may rest now. I'll look after her."
Elise understood without needing more words. After all, they were husband and wife — and as Rosalind's maid, she hoped they'd share more time together, especially now, newlyweds as they were.
"Then, I'll take my leave, Your Grace. May you have a peaceful night."
Elise paused at the doorway, glancing back at the tall figure by the bedside.
Dorian Valemont — the man whose cold gaze had once sent a chill down her spine — was now gently pulling the blanket over Rosalind's shoulders, each movement surprisingly tender.
The candlelight cast a soft glow across his face. Gone was the distant, prideful air she had come to know. In its place was a quiet stillness — the look of a man learning how to protect something precious with all that he had.
Elise lowered her eyes. A a faint smile brushing her lips.
Perhaps… they would find their own happiness after all.
Now, only the two of them remained in the quiet, expansive bedroom.
Dorian stepped closer and sat on the edge of the bed. He reached out, brushing away a few strands of hair that had fallen across her serene face. She looked so peaceful in sleep — and something deep within him stirred. A quiet, aching sort of calm.
In his mind, she had always been like this — a strong, beautiful rose, like the blue blossoms of Everfrost. Blooming against the cold, unwavering even in snow and storm.
"You know," he spoke softly, "I realized... I was the one who pushed you into that despair."
He caressed her cheek gently, his eyes clouded with something unspoken.
She had always shone like the morning sun, bringing warmth to others.
And he — he was a blizzard. Cold and relentless, not only shielding light, but destroying it.
If he wanted her light to survive, he would have to pull back the frost in his own heart — to protect her glow from ever fading.
He sat beside her a little longer, as though afraid that if he looked away, that fragile light might vanish from the world.
"That day…" he whispered, "when I saw you walk away with eyes full of disappointment… I knew I had to change, or lose you forever."
Lowering his head, he pressed a faint kiss to her forehead — not for her to know, but because he needed to.
"I used to believe that power was enough. That as long as I controlled everything, no one could hurt me."
A bitter smile tugged at his lips. "But now I fear… that I might be the one hurting you."
A breeze drifted through the open window, carrying with it the scent of early summer night. And in that moment, he understood: the ice around his heart… was melting. Because of her.
He gently squeezed her hand and whispered — not as a vow to her, but to himself:
"This time… I won't leave you alone again."
Beneath her fluttering lashes, her lips moved faintly, murmuring something unintelligible.
In the haze of sleep, she felt a gentle warmth around her hand — and a familiar, low voice, calling to her from somewhere far away.
Though her eyes remained closed, it felt as if her heart had heard him.
Dorian watched her with a faint smile, then leaned in to press a soft kiss against her forehead.
If it means you could be truly happy... then no cost would ever be too great. I'd give anything, Rosi. Anything.
-----
"Where am I?"
Rosalind suddenly opened her eyes. Looking around, all she could see was a vast, undefined expanse of darkness. She couldn't tell where she was, only that she slowly began to walk, searching for a path in this desolate, silent place.
The further she walked, the deeper she ventured into the darkness, until a sudden beam of light appeared. Drawn to it, she moved toward the only light in this place.
As she got closer, Rosalind realized there was someone sitting there. She could hear the sound of muffled sobs echoing in the space. Something inside her urged her to move closer to the figure.
"Are you alright, miss?" she called softly.
The girl was holding her face, crying uncontrollably, clearly having gone through something painful.
Rosalind could almost feel the bitter sorrow as if it were her own, with every heartbeat.
The closer she got to the girl, the more suffocating the emotion became, as though it were choking her heart. Rosalind could barely breathe.
"Please… save me… I can't take it anymore…"
The girl's voice cracked with sobs.
"There's no escape from… this loneliness… no one will ever understand… no one."
Rosalind felt her breath leave her, her heart pounding wildly.
At that moment, the girl turned around, reaching out to grasp Rosalind's wrist. Her bitter voice escaped in a whisper.
"There's no one… no one, Rosi… no one can save us…"
She smiled a hollow, empty smile, her face wet with tears, as if she had let go of everything.
Love, hatred—none of it mattered anymore.
Rosalind's eyes widened as she stared at the girl. A tear slid down her cheek... the girl was her. No one else.
----
"...Ha…"
Rosalind jolted awake from the dream, her heart pounding as if it had been yanked from some faraway place. The room remained cloaked in darkness, lit only by the pale moonlight filtering through the gently swaying curtains. She clutched her chest, trying to steady her ragged breaths, while tears threatened to spill from the corners of her eyes.
She had never dreamed like that before. A dream so vivid it hurt. In it, she saw a girl—with the same eyes, the same face—but a gaze so hollow it made one's breath catch. The girl wept in silence, a cry so full of pain it couldn't even form words, as if she had grown used to no one ever listening.
Rosalind clutched the blanket tightly, trying to shake off the chill that clung to her skin. But it was in that trembling that she realized something terrifying—that girl in the dream wasn't a stranger. It was her. A part of her. A part she had never dared to face. A part buried beneath the calm, composed mask she had always worn.
"Have I always felt this way?" she whispered, her hand drifting unconsciously to her heart, which still beat in a frantic rhythm. "Lonely… and no one ever noticed?"
It took Rosalind a long while to steady her breath.
She was lying on a large bed, eyes drifting toward the intricate patterns on the ceiling. The faint scent of sandalwood lingered in the air, soothing like a balm for a weary soul.
But then, as if realizing something, she abruptly sat up, her gaze flitting around in confusion.
This room wasn't familiar. The walls were painted a smoky grey, with heavy midnight-blue curtains nearly swallowing the dark wooden window frames. Opposite her, towering bookshelves stood pressed against the wall, filled with neatly arranged hardbound volumes. A fireplace in the corner still glowed faintly, the amber light dancing across the cold walls, casting a fragile warmth over the austere space.
Before the hearth was a dark upholstered chair, and draped casually over its back was a long cloak. Next to it, a sword stood propped upright, as if still waiting for its master's hand. On a nearby table, a few books had been carefully stacked, each one aligned with meticulous precision.
This... was not her room.
And Rosalind knew. Knew exactly whose space this was.
Dorian.
She bit her lip, a quiet weight rising in her chest. The haze from last night's wine hadn't entirely lifted, and her mind still reeled from the dream—so empty, so distant, and aching in a way that left her breathless. Everything blurred together, leaving her as if wandering blindly through a veil of mist.