M I D V I N T E R
CITY OF HEAVENHEIM
"Happy birthday, my love," he said and lit a candle just for her.
Gently did he cup her cheek, his thumb caressing the smooth stone of her perfectly sculpted lips and chin. She was depitcted with her eyes closed, as if she were but asleep and would one day be roused from her slumber. Of course, she never would. He would never see those eyes of hers ever again, or hear her beautiful voice. He'd make her laugh whenever he could just to hear her laugh, but those days were long gone.
He retrieved a folding chair he'd stashed up in the tree under whose mighty boughs her tomb resided and sat beside her, his hand upon hers whilst watching the last leaves of autumn. In a mere few weeks and for the next half-dozen months there is only white to look forward to, so he will take his time appreciating what colour remains before the long nights seize their cold grasp upon the land. An hour passed in silence before Thurion then resolved that this season would not be bereft of colour. He stood up, calmly folded the chair back up and stashed it among the boughs, then bid his wife farewell with a solemn kiss on the forehead.
He cast an eye towards the empty base standing next to her. A part of him had wished to lie down and die beside her each time he came here. This time was no different.
"Not yet," he shook his head. "Leave the lights on for me a bit longer, Coci. There is something I must do."
For the next three months, the High King was scarcely seen in public, preferring to host the weekly council meetings in his own home rather than within the palace. Passers-by would notice the lanterns of his workshop remain lit throughout much of the night, however.
By the coming of Yuletide morning, a traditionally bleak and contemplative time of year for families stuck inside during the long dark, when food and firewood are carefully rationed to outlast the harshest winter, the most precious music of all could be heard along every street of Heavenheim: children's laughter, jubilant and joyous like no other. Each and every child woke up to discover a toy tailoured to their wishes, wrapped inside colourful packaging specifically addressed to them, much to their parents' befuddlement. None could say how the presents got there, for not a single lock was picked nor window broken, and the night before had seen a blizzard like no other.
When Nina visited her father in the afternoon, the news of his sudden reclusiveness having reached the halls of the College, she found him soundly asleep on the couch, still cluching the framed portrait of his wife she'd painted for him years prior.
