35 BW (35 years before the Holy War).

  “To my lovely crimson

  Who reminded me of the sun, in this everlasting winter

  Of a home, far away from me

  And thus I’m left indecisive, I can’t choose my loyalty between the homes I came back to

  May my letter reach you, when I myself couldn’t

  I love you

  From your foolish man”

  The Lady dressed in red crumpled the letter. She put it on her lap, focusing on the chess board in front of her. It remained organized, with only two pawns of the opposing side beside each other, out of their original place.

  “If he were here, he would move an En Passant on you my little dear sister”

  The pale tall man said to her, softly. His dark hair was highlighted by the moonlight that’s seeping through the window. His black eyes stared at the board, but left it untouched.

  “He wouldn’t. He really wasn’t good at moving his pawns, always forgetting them. He didn’t even know this move when we were first playing,” she traced over the opposing pawn, smiling bitterly.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “How ironic,“ the man sighed and paused. His eyes lingered where she was staring.

  “Truly sorrowful,” he continued in a soft tone.

  The woman stared at her brother right after. Observing his hunched posture, quivering lips. Eyes that couldn’t cover waves of sadness. What an open book.

  “You’re too soft, Noir. He’s still your enemy. How can you have compassion for your enemy?”

  She asked, letting go of the pawn in front of her, and stared at the moon beyond her windows. Around it was dark, with the snow falling. Like it always did in this land.

  “Yet your feelings towards him run deeper than mine. Elda,” he accused her with a sharp gaze, challenging her. She fisted the letter on her lap, refusing to face her brother.

  “A name I haven’t heard for a while,” she mused, trying to change the subject.

  “You only allowed a few people to call you by your name. He’s one of them right?”

  And of course Noir would know her intention, and steer the direction of the conversation back. Elda twirled on her red locks, now looking on her lap. Noir observed her closely, before sighing.

  “You’re allowed to grieve,” he said gently. Elda’s eyebrows furrowed, mouth sneering.

  “What use of grieving?”

  Her voice is full of spite. A Spite towards what, she doesn’t even know.

  “To let go.”

  “And If I don’t want to let go?” she asked, now fully facing Noir. Right in the eyes, with intensity Noir didn’t expect.

  Noir frowned at her and she couldn’t stand his pity. She looked away again. They stayed at a standstill, neither were comfortable to fill the silence brewing between them. From a far they could hear one of Noir’s attendants calling for him urgently.

  “I suggest you do, for you and for him. But I can’t control what you do,” said Noir, glancing briefly at the board before leaving the room.

  “Foolish.”

  The word from her mouth echoes in her room. To whom she addressed it to, maybe her brother, that man, or herself, doesn’t really matter.