No sound, whatsoever, ca from their bedroom. Not that of water splashing or fabric rustling, not even of breathing or the faintest of heartbeats.
Which Silas thought was odd since usually, by then, Arabella would have been in and getting ready for bed.
A wave of dread rushed him, tugging his heart along into the downward spiral it begot as mory served him the night he had to go back to her dead body on the bed.
His hand didn’t shake upon grabbing the knob. On the contrary, he ripped the band-aid at once, barging in on the... Ghosts that occupied the space in their absence.
In both parts of the room, no soul ambled as Arabella wasn’t in there at all.
Was she still out in the gardens? He wondered.
A simple solution offered itself to his little predicant, his ears.
Extending his hearing, sifting through the hundreds of voices that lived under their roof, hers ca sweet and quiet.
Hushed as though sharing secrets with whoever it was that stood in front of her.
Following its lead, her timbre led him down to the ground floor, straight towards the great library.
Luckily for him, the won stood at the far back of the room, perfectly concealed behind the rows and lines of shelves and so did not notice his entrance.
"No, no. Not like that," the stranger humd, "For this part, you don’t put that much pressure,"
"I am putting as little pressure as I can. I promise," Arabella’s voice ca next, just as soft and subdued as the previous woman had spoken.
Much like Silas’ first thought about it, the two of them sounded as though they were comnting on sothing so fragile that it would break should their voices rise above a whisper.
"No, you aren’t," said the other woman, "It is very easy to lose control over your arm the more and the harder you try to keep your efforts in check. See, your brain tricks you into believing you are being as soft and careful as you can when in reality, it is the total opposite,"
"Oh... Yes. Actually, now that you ntion it, I am starting to feel numbness in my arm," the tiniest of chuckles escaped his wife.
"That is alright. It used to happen to a lot when I first started writing, but then I quickly learned that whenever this happened, I should always let go of the quill and take a deep breath to clear my mind,"
The whooshing of books that zood around them made more noise than the words they exchanged.
"Lovely...," Arabella whispered, "But I am still a bit lost. While this is most interesting, I am afraid I have to ask, what does calligraphy have to do with your worship of spirits? Because I could’ve sworn, I’ve read about the cold region which includes Kalldaggar and nowhere did I find anything about the art of calligraphy being used as a vessel for worship,"
The young woman gave her a big, bright smile, "That is because it is my own vessel. A personal conduit of choice that I’ve picked to pursue my veneration,"
Even from the distance at which he stood, Silas’ sharp diamonds allowed him to distinguish every detail on the stranger’s face and body.
And by all accounts, her voice matched her appearance perfectly. In many aspects, she reminded him of Estrid.
Her stance and the deep note in her timbre that projected a certain level of security was very much part of those similarities.
Her winter gray eyes were filled with the confidence of soone who knew very well what they were talking about.
"In fact, it isn’t a common thing at all in Kalldaggar to use one’s own thod to worship. Most people keep a dedicated altar for each spirit they follow. So altars are private while others are public, but...," she lifted the quill in her hands, holding it as though it was the most precious thing in her world, "I found that my little writing corner is the perfect altar for that I made for myself. It keeps calm, grounded and best of all it keeps my mind clear, sharp and focused on my prayers,"
Arabella’s eyes darted from the page to the quill then back to the young woman, full of light and life very unlike the deanor she had on when he left her a few hours prior.
"What about the content of your writing? Does it matter what you put on the page or which language you write in?" eventually, her gemstones rested upon the ink on the pages in front of them.
"Not initially. It didn’t matter," the blonde shook her head, "But over ti, I found that so letters or words go better with certain prayers as though... they convey the thoughts and ssages I have for the spirits better because they allow to practice control in different yet specific ways,"
"I have never worshiped no god or spirit so, I remain curious as to whether...," Arabella trailed off, seemingly reluctant to finish her sentence.
"Whether the prayers get answered," the woman half asked, a warm smile on her.
In response Arabella nodded profusely.
"Sotis yes, in a straightforward way, but others in odd ways... Ways, I could have never expected. Sotis I even regret praying for a certain thing,"
The two won gazed into each other’s eyes for a mont, but the silence beca a tad too taxing for one of them, it appeared.
"I did not pray to be sent here if that is what you are wondering," she chuckled.
"Then what did you pray for?" Arabella murmured, her smile ek.
"I prayed for the safety of my family. I prayed for a way that would guarantee their survival through the next ten winters to blight Kalldaggar and like I said, the prayers get answered in odd ways sotis," the woman’s voice trembled the closer to the end of her sentence she ca.
"Did the duke tell you that coming here was your best bet at helping your family?"
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