Night slowly fell, covering the palace in a heavy, suffocating darkness.
However, the calmness that usually accompanied Avelvion was nowhere to be found that night.
The official documents on his desk were still open, but not a single word could enter his mind. Instead, the image of the new black-haired servant kept bothering him.
The way she spoke, the way she bowed with respect, even the way she held the cleaning cloth in the gallery earlier everything felt too familiar. It was too painful, as if her every movement was waking up old memories he had tried so hard to bury.
Avelvion slammed the file shut, the sound echoing sharply in the quiet room.
"It makes no sense," he whispered, his voice full of frustration and confusion that made his chest feel tight.
That person was gone. He had seen how the whole world mourned her loss years ago. So why did his heart refuse to accept the truth? Why did the sight of just one strand of black hair make his soul so restless?
