CHAPTER 210: CHAPTER 210 – A COLD AND SILENT NIGHT

Warm steam still clung to Sylvia’s pale skin as she finally rose from the bath. Droplets slid down her long black hair, dripping from the ends onto her shoulders and tracing their way down the curves of her back. The air in the stone chamber felt layered: on one side, the biting heat of the bath; on the other, the chill that seeped in from the castle’s ever-damp walls. The mixture pressed against her body as if she were caught between two different seasons.

Celes glanced at her briefly from where she still soaked. She said nothing, merely lifted her glass of white wine once more, drained the last of it with a calm motion, and set it upon the pool’s edge. Her expression, as usual, barely shifted but her eyes lingered faintly on Sylvia until the queen stepped out of the bath.

The great wooden door closed softly behind her. The metallic creak of its hinges rang briefly through the stone corridor before silence reclaimed it. Sylvia walked without hurry, letting her footsteps echo along the walls. The thin white towel wrapped around her body was already damp, clinging closely to her skin. Her wet hair left small trails of water across the polished black floor as she passed.

When she reached her chamber door, the two zombie guards with spears bowed deeply, motionless like statues. Sylvia merely raised her hand in passing acknowledgment and pushed open the heavy door.

The room greeted her with a profound stillness. The black candles atop the round table near the window still burned, but their flames were faint, swayed by the wind slipping through the curtains. The air inside was nothing like the bath house; it was sharp with cold, as though the stone walls had absorbed the night’s frost and were now exhaling it back into the room.

Sylvia drew a long breath, closing the door softly, then moved toward the tall wardrobe against the wall. She opened it, pushing aside the rows of black garments that hung within. Her hand selected one: a long, gray nightgown with a thick lining. She did not truly need protection from the cold; her undead body no longer knew how to shiver but her mind thought otherwise. Seeing frost form upon the windowpanes, hearing the winter wind slip past the castle’s edges, her thoughts conjured the illusion of a chill piercing to the bone.

She did not consider it weakness rather, a faint reminder that she could still cling to human impressions. Something that, in a strange way, soothed her.

The towel slid from her shoulders, dropping soundlessly to the floor. Sylvia changed clothes slowly, pulling the nightgown over her head until the fabric fell to cover her slender frame. The cloth was soft, its weight pressing gently upon skin still damp from the bath. She tied the sash with little care and ran her fingers through her hair, leaving it half-tidy at best.

The tall mirror in the corner reflected her image. Her crimson eyes looked weary, dark shadows faintly lining beneath them not from physical exhaustion, but from mental strain. She gazed at that reflection briefly, then allowed a faint smile. Not a happy one, but a quiet acknowledgment that she was still here.

"A zombie queen with wet hair... hardly a sight worth writing into history," she murmured.

She crossed to the large bed at the center of the room. It was carved of black wood with intricate patterns, its sheets and blankets dyed a deep gray. Sylvia pulled back the thick covers and slipped inside. The weight and warmth enveloped her at once, and she exhaled a long sigh, as if the burdens of the day drifted out with it.

Yet her eyes did not close.

Instead, they wandered to the great window by her bed. The heavy curtains were drawn only halfway, leaving the night sky exposed. Stars scattered across the darkness, their light caught upon the thin frost edging the glass, making it sparkle like shards of crystal. Sylvia propped herself slightly, leaning against the bed’s headboard, her gaze fixed outside.

There was something strange in the air. Not only the cold, not only the silence. She felt... as if a whisper hid behind the starlight, something calling, tugging at her attention.

And, as always, her mind turned to one name.

Sofia.

That face surfaced clearly. Pale blonde hair soft as silk, blue eyes steadfast yet gentle when they looked at her. Sylvia remembered her not merely as a loyal commander or right hand, but as something deeper someone who made her understand what home meant.

"How are you... Sofia?" she whispered, her voice nearly carried away by the night wind. "Is Nocture holding together without me? Or are you too busy calming everyone each time another rumor spreads?"

A small, bitter smile curved her lips. A smile meant for no one but herself.

"I shouldn’t doubt you. You’ve always managed everything... better than I ever could."

Her hand rose, brushing the frost that clung to the windowpane. The motion was slow, as though she wished to touch the stars beyond the glass.

"But... I still miss you."

The words were simple, yet they echoed within her chest with a heaviness that no battlefield wound could match.

Far away, a wolf’s howl pierced the night, mingling with the winter wind. The castle remained hushed, broken only by the distant echo of zombie guards pacing the corridors. All of it became a backdrop, a somber music underscoring the longing she had carried for too long.

Sylvia drew in another deep breath and let her head sink back into the pillows. She pulled the heavy blanket up to her shoulders. Her gaze lingered upon the sky until her eyelids grew heavy.

Yet even with her eyes closed, her thoughts clung to one distant point, back in the city she had left behind.

To a woman who, perhaps at that same moment, also stared at the stars, wishing she could say the same words.

The night moved slowly.

Sylvia did not fall into deep sleep right away. At times she shifted restlessly, at times she reopened her eyes just to make sure the stars were still there. Her body might not feel fatigue, but her mind often betrayed her calm.

The hourglass on the small table by her bed continued to spill, grain by grain. Its faint sound was almost imperceptible, yet to Sylvia half-awake it was like the ticking of a clock that measured the length of her yearning.

She thought of Nocture. Of Sofia walking its stone streets, inspecting the market, speaking with the townsfolk. Of the smile she always hid beneath her stern composure. Of the nights they had sat on the castle balcony, saying nothing, simply staring at the stars together.

The thought made her chest feel full, not pain, not comfort, but something between.

"If only this distance could be cut like paper... I’d do it now," she murmured, half-dreaming.

At last, her eyes closed for good.

The castle stayed silent. Night winds brushed past its great windows, carrying the sound of breaking branches outside. The moonlight shifted slowly, drawing long shadows across the chamber floor.

And beneath the heavy covers, the Zombie Queen slept with her heart lingering far away.

Not on battles, not on documents, not on gods or a crumbling world.

But on a woman waiting for her in the distance.

Sofia.

A few moments after Sylvia’s breathing had settled into a steady rhythm, her bedroom door creaked open almost without a sound. The hinges moved slowly, as though already accustomed to a guest who never wished to be discovered. A slender shadow slipped through the narrow gap, then closed the door again with a gentle touch.

Celes lingered for a moment at the threshold, letting her eyes adjust to the dim glow of candlelight. The small flame on the side table trembled, casting long shadows across the stone walls. The air in the bedroom was cold, yet for Celes, that chill only deepened the quiet she sought.

Her gaze fell upon the large bed at the center of the bedroom. Sylvia was already asleep, her face serene, crimson eyes shut tight. Her still-damp black hair spilled over the gray pillow. A thick blanket covered her slender frame, leaving only a pale shoulder exposed, rising and falling softly with each breath.

A strange tenderness always stirred within Celes whenever she saw Sylvia asleep. Not the aura of a ruler, not the figure of a queen standing firm upon the battlefield only Sylvia, with all the fragile sides she so rarely revealed.

Her steps made nearly no sound as she drew closer. She had slipped off her heels at the door, leaving only the soft whisper of her nightgown brushing against the floor.

Reaching the bedside, she paused, gazing at Sylvia’s face in silence. The candlelight traced a faint sheen across her jawline and pale lips. As though wishing to preserve the sight, Celes lifted her hand, nearly brushing Sylvia’s cheek... but stopped. Her fingers hovered in the air, hesitant, before slowly retreating.

She crouched briefly to remove the small pin from her own hair, then carefully pulled back the blanket, cautious not to stir a sound. The mattress shifted as she slipped inside, making Sylvia roll lightly to one side, though not enough to wake her.

Celes lay facing her. Their faces were separated by only a few inches, and Sylvia’s warm breath occasionally brushed against her skin. There were long, silent moments when Celes simply looked at her, as though speaking in her heart to someone who could not hear.

"...You always seem so far away, even when you’re right beside me," she whispered, barely audible.

She knew Sylvia was dreaming of something perhaps Sofia, perhaps of the foreign skies she so often admired. There was a faint bitterness in that thought, though not born of jealousy. It was more a quiet resignation, an acceptance that her own place was only here, in the night, in secret, never demanding more.

Her hand moved gently, pulling the blanket higher to cover Sylvia’s shoulder completely. Then she adjusted herself, resting her forehead briefly against the same pillow. The faint scent of soap and lingering warmth from the bath still clung to the air.

Her eyelids grew heavy, her breathing slowed.

And, as on so many nights before, without anyone ever knowing, Celes allowed herself to fall asleep at the side of the queen she guarded in silence.

Outside, the winter wind continued to sweep past the castle walls. The candle on the table finally died out, leaving only the pale moonlight spilling through the gap in the curtains.

The bedroom sank into complete stillness.