A long stretch of time had passed. Most guests had left, though the gathering had never been large. The hall was littered with faint echoes: laughter fading, chairs scraping, and the quiet clink of abandoned plates. Lanterns flickered weakly, casting soft shadows that swayed across the varnished floor.
Viggo approached the table where Arthur slept, slumped forward, Cellis resting against his shoulder like a small, warm weight. Both of Viggo's children were asleep in his arms. Plates, cups, and leftover cutlery were scattered across the table, evidence of a feast recently concluded.
Belle and Roxy remained nearby, whispering softly, aware of the two sleeping children but unconcerned. Belle rearranged a stray napkin, Roxy adjusted a lantern, then both paused to glance at the peaceful faces of Arthur and Cellis.
"Lady Belle, I will be going," Viggo said, shifting his sleeping children slightly.
Belle's voice was pointed but calm.
"Viggo, I told you to remain formal for the occasion. You sound dense rather than proper."
Roxy glanced at Arthur, whose arm was still clutched by Cellis.
"I really don't want to wake them," she murmured. "They look comfortable."
Belle shook her head.
"Comfortable? On those chairs? You two are too sentimental."
Viggo adjusted the children again and nodded.
"I am off."
The door closed behind him. The hall exhaled.
>>>
Cellis stirred, blinking against the dim lantern light. Her eyes, heavy with sleep, found only the soft curve of Arthur's shoulder. Her mother was absent.
She tugged lightly on Arthur's arm.
"Arthur… Arthur."
A firmer tug followed.
"Arthur!"
Arthur stirred, lifting his free hand to smooth the back of her head.
"Stop worrying and let me sleep," he mumbled, voice still thick with drowsiness.
Roxy's voice cut sharply from behind them.
"Arthur! Wake up this instant!"
Belle added, regardless,
"Arthur is such a genius."
Roxy shot Belle a glance.
"Don't encourage him."
Arthur's eyes opened slowly,
"I know… I'm embarrassing you."
"Realization doesn't fix mistakes," Roxy said, folding her arms.
Belle clapped once.
"It's a new sol. No more sleeping—up now."
Cellis thought, half-lost in the fog of sleep:
"I slept the whole night with him…"
She removed Arthur's blindfold while Belle lifted her ceremonial veil.
The women of House Advent escorted remaining guests to the front door.
Roxy bowed lightly.
"Please visit us often."
"Sure…" Cellis mumbled, still groggy. She reached for Arthur unconsciously but tripped; Belle caught her quickly.
"Careful," Belle said. "You're still drifting."
Cellis's eyes found Arthur—the boy she had spent the night beside. She whispered his name softly.
"Arthur."
Though she had spent the night beside him, she could not explain why her eyes followed Arthur as if pulled by some invisible tether. In that quiet darkness, she acted more as his shadow than the radiant light she would be known to be , she kept drifting toward him again and again, tugged by an acute, almost addictive need that clung to her like a habit she couldn't shake—like something small that can't help circling the warmth it quietly depends on.
>>>
Arthur reached the attic and let a small orb of light bloom in his palm. The pale glow revealed the familiar room as well as the stored things, yet a few items were shifted just enough to unsettle him. Something had been here.
"What is it this time?" he muttered, stomping against the floorboards to flush out whatever was hiding. Nothing stirred. He scanned the corners, searching for where it might have entered. His gaze settled on an old chest—he had never opened it before.
Curiosity pulled him to it. The hinges groaned when he lifted the lid, releasing a faint breath of dust and something older. Inside lay clothing too small for either him or Roxy—simple, worn pieces shaped for a young boy. The cut was plain, the stitching uneven, the colors muted from age. "Were these mine?",he wondered, though no memory rose.
He grasped the chest to move it. A sharp tug failed, so he shifted it gradually, bit by bit, until the space behind came into view. A hole—one he already knew existed from outside. He knelt, letting his hand hover over it. At his touch, the wall began to fill in as he created new material, thickening and smoothing until it fused seamlessly with the surrounding wood.
"This will cause problems in some of the seasons," he murmured, but for then it was the simplest fix.
Just as the gap sealed, the intruder made a desperate dash—but Arthur had shaped a vessel around it , trapping it before it could slip between the boards. Being in contact with the floor made the capture easier; otherwise, finding it later would have been a chore.
He carried the vessel outside and opened it. A small, little creature with soft, chestnut-brown fur shimmered under the light. Its bushy tail arched gracefully. Large, dark eyes, and pointed ears. Tiny paws, tipped with sharp claws.The small creature darted out—something squirrel-like but lighter, with sleek feathered tufts along its limbs and a long tail that caught the air. It flicked once and glided upward, vanishing into the dusk like a stray scrap of wind-borne fur