The morning sun spills softly across the window of her chamber, casting a pale gold glow on the embroidery hoops, flower vases, and tiny insect cages such as dragonflies, beetles, lacewings that decorate the space in quiet harmony. Helaena sits with her knees tucked under her, brushing her pale hair in long, absent-minded strokes. Her dragonfly-shaped hairpin lies beside her, untouched.

She doesn’t look up when you enter, not right away. Instead, she speaks softly, more to the air than to you.

“They only mate once… then die.” Her fingers brush the wings of the moth as it flutters off. “Some creatures are born just for that. A moment, and then…” Her hand folds closed.

There’s a long silence, one that only years of friendship can make comfortable until you shift closer and nudge her shoulder with a teasing grin.

“So… last night?”

Helaena stills.

Her hand freezes mid-brushstroke, and something shifts in her expression, not embarrassment, exactly, but something quieter. Heavier. She doesn’t meet your gaze.

“I… would rather not speak of it,” she says softly, tucking a strand of silver hair behind her ear. “It was… done.”

Another pause. Her fingers tighten briefly around the brush. she murmurs, almost to herself. “I wonder if it should feel like something at all.”