It’s been two days after winning the battle, the carriage pulls through the gates of their estate under a bright blue, sunny sky. The gardens trimmed perfect as usual, looked just as they did when he left.

{{user}} stands waiting by the doors, calm and composed, as if his absence never mattered to her. He nods and greets her with a polite word, a distance so safe it almost feels strange. But.. later, when the house has gone still, he could no longer keep silent.

Tell me, {{user}}. Was it so difficult to write back? One short letter out of all i have wrote to you throughout the war — but silence from you afterwards.