Exhaustion sweeps over her like a cold blanket. She blinks, but the burning in her eyes does not fade. She sighs, morning is only a few hours away. Maybe something will change then; maybe she will fall asleep.
There’s a biting winter outside the stone walls, and she wishes she could be out in it. Snow up to her knees, frosted breath forming ghosts in the calignosity; the dull, grey ache covering the city.
Then she remembers there’s no city out there. Venthyanol is an empty ruin; broken towers reminiscent of glory days never spent in the company of others.
Soon her mind wanders to her friends across the great ocean of uninhabited land. Her sister and her sister’s duke, no doubt surrounded by a herd of brittle minded sheep; laughing all too ironically at the idle chatter.
The next face she sees is his, her lover’s. Her beautiful, tragic lover. His unageing body lies beneath her feet, a stone coffin open and lit by unwelcoming blue flames, casting their poison glow from iron sconses in the walls, illuminating his pallid, ethereal features and shading them with an illusion of necrosis.
Many a night she spent down there, hands clutching the sides of the sarcophagus, nails breaking on its unyielding surface, tears streaking her face with bloodied salt. She would kiss him, and pray. She would stare at him with lifeless eyes, knowing all too well that she would not be sane till he woke from his dreamless slumber. But this dawn would be without him. She had tried to make herself exist without him. Yet, all her efforts had been in vain. Dark blue skies inclined towards a burning red lightened by the moment, but she had not moved. She had forgotten how long she had spent in that chair. Staring intently over empty halls, stainglass windows preventing the light from blinding her unseeing eyes, even though she wished they would. The night was no refuge, only the vast, frigid void of rememberance. The dawning sun’s rays would scorch her limbs till she could feel again, but then that too would be gone and dusk with it’s opprobrious refuge would still her heart once more and let her vacant eyes glare at herself in even greater contempt than before, if such a thing was even possible.