To my dear Silvania,
I hope you don't think I've forgotten you, for I am still on time. I promised to see you again in the sixth month after my departure, and although that day has not yet arrived, it's so close... so close. I will remain obstinate in the search for your cure until my last breath, I know. You allow me this madness because you are too good to me; you always were, you always have been. For that, and so much more, I adore you.
I must confess that in recent days, memories of my adolescence have struck me with unusual force. Those letters in which I begged you for advice, the times I came back to you wounded, seeking refuge in your arms during those endless years of war. I depended on you then, with a broken heart, and perhaps I still do... though in a very different way.
I'm not writing to lament. On the contrary, today I glimpse, thanks to Finia and my occasional helpers, a real possibility of healing your ailments, a path that could restore the freshness and greatness with which I always saw you. Although I know well that the only thing that withered with the years was your body, never your spirit. Perhaps what moves me is half hope and half fear, because losing you would be unbearable. You, who know me better than anyone, know that deep down I was never as strong as I appeared.
These days I often find myself thinking about how unprepared I was for matters of the heart. Now that Finia is with me, I fear like a child that someone will come to snatch this little treasure away. And then, as in the old days, the need to run into your arms and hide assails me. I know it sounds childish... but that's how deep the void your absence leaves me feels.
What keeps me here? A bucolic peace I had never experienced, the warmth of so many kind people. And yet, none of them can make me forget my duty to you. Although I fear that Eleanor would not look kindly on me bringing you to this place, even if I could. In any case, my Queen, my Silvania, I will soon be back. Because my time here has not been in vain: I am a wiser mage, something I never thought possible.
If you'll allow me, I'll also share a sadness that accompanies me amidst so much joy: Finia will soon leave for Scabia. I can sense it in her gaze, even though she tries to hide it. She still has her own path to walk, and I foresee that her absence will leave another wound that will never close. One more. Always one more.
Tell me, my beloved Silvania... is there a place where we can belong, where smiles never fade and no one fears losing what they love? Lately, my heart clings to those daydreams as I recall your gaze, the way you guided my hands over the piano, the hours of your company that I miss so much.
Soon I'll be able to hide in your arms again. Will you allow me, if only one last time?
P.S. The coin that accompanies this letter is important. Carry it with you always, as I carry you in my heart.
Always yours,
Dyan Halvest
Silvania remained in her chamber, barely illuminated by the trembling light of a candle. The silence of the night seemed to envelop everything, broken only by the creaking of the wood in the walls of the old palace. On her lap rested Dyan's letter, open, with the folds still fresh, as if they held the warmth of the hands that had written it.
Her lips moved barely, murmuring each word, as if by pronouncing them softly she could bring him back. As she read on, she felt her chest tighten with each memory evoked: the afternoons at the piano, the refuge she had been for him in his youth, and the plea contained in that question he didn't dare to shout.
When she finished, she looked down at the small coin that had fallen from the envelope. She held it between her long, delicate fingers, turning it slowly, watching as the candlelight drew golden flashes on its worn surface.
She brought it to her heart, closing her eyes. In the silence, she heard the echo of her own breathing, fragile, as if with each exhalation a little more strength escaped.
"Fool..." she whispered tenderly, though the word broke into a thread of a voice. "It is not you who should hide in my arms."
A tear rolled down her cheek, falling onto the paper and staining Dyan's signature, barely blurring it. With the back of her hand, she dried it, afraid of ruining that trace of him that now accompanied her.
She leaned back in the armchair, squeezing the coin in her closed fist, as if in that way she could keep him by her side. The candle flickered, and in the gloom, Silvania allowed herself a deep sigh, almost a prayer:
"Come back, Dyan... come back before my time runs out."
The coin remained on her chest, held by her own hand, as her eyelids closed, not entirely from sleep, but from the weariness of a soul that waited with more faith than hope.