A whisper and a stained flower
The cathedral looked different at night.
Not grand. Not golden. Just still. Like a tomb left open.
The light had dimmed to a hushed amber, leaking through high stained glass like dying embers trapped in colored ice.
Outside, someone had left a candle burning low by the entrance. Its flame bowed in the breeze.
Eliza, dressed in black from head to toe, slipped through the heavy doors like a shadow come to pray.
Her cloak hid her face. Her steps were quick yet deliberate, each one soundless as if she'd rehearsed this entrance.
A noblewoman glanced up at the motion—then looked away. Mourning was no time to question ghosts.
She walked straight to the altar.
No hesitation — until she reached it.
Her hand moved to her hood. Slowly, like a ritual. She pulled it down. Shadows slid off her face. Her eyes caught the light.
She looked at the flower in her hand — a white lily. The tip of one petal was stained red. She stared at it like it had betrayed her.
Her hand hovered above the altar.
She didn't put it down. Not yet. Her fingers lingered too long on the stem, as if setting it down would be too permanent.
She scoffed — quietly.
A bloodstained flower, on a sacred altar. What a joke.
But wasn't all of this a joke? This mourning. This display. This empire.
She placed the lily.
Then pulled her hood back over her head.
And finally, with a voice low and barely audible — but deliberate:
"It's almost ready."
"The fall is near."
She turned, fast. Her footsteps stayed soft.
She left the way she came, not looking back.
She stepped out into the night—
—and froze.
Her shoulder hit someone. Solid. Close.
The hood slipped from her head.
Her hair tumbled out, dark brown, slightly tousled from the movement.
A few strands shifted in the breeze, revealing darker roots — no one would notice unless they were looking.
She didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
He reacted first, fast, like he'd been expecting it.
One hand shot out. Gripped her wrist.
His voice, quiet but sharp:
"Where were you?"
She didn't answer. Not yet.
He stared at her — searching.
As if he couldn't believe she was real.
His grip tightened slightly, just for a second. Then loosened, like it hurt to touch her.
The silence between them filled the space like fog.
A simple gold ring glinted faintly on his finger — carved with a crest the empire knelt for.
Maybe he had come to mourn.
Or maybe he had been waiting.
Either way, he was here.
She finally spoke, eyes still lowered.
Voice quiet. Detached. Almost kind.
"Not now. There's still work to be done."
And just like that, she stepped back into the dark.
Like a whisper.
Like a secret never told.