Weeks turned into months.
And though Aria never again returned to the forest to lay her flowers, she sometimes felt a breath, a shiver, a presence just beyond the leaves, in the curve of a warm breeze.
As if someone was watching over her.
She spoke of it to no one.
But on certain nights, when she opened the shutters to listen to the crickets, she would catch sight of a shadow perched far off on the hill.
Just for a moment.
Then nothing.
---
The cursed king, meanwhile, hid in the treetops, in the wind, in the silences.
He no longer dared approach. But he watched her.
When she sang to the children, he closed his eyes.
When she sat on the white stone near the well to read, he remained still in the shadows of the trees, just meters away, unmoving, holding his dead breath.
And sometimes, without knowing why, she would lift her head toward him, toward that corner of darkness where he stood...
But she saw nothing. Only emptiness.
And yet, she smiled.
As if she sensed him.
---
One evening, she found a black rose on her windowsill.
She shivered.
The same kind she once laid in the forest.
She picked it up gently, pressed it to her heart.
She said nothing to Roy. Nor to Grandmother.
But in her nightly prayers, she whispered:
> Thank you...
And high atop the oak, hidden in the deepest shadow,
Wilfred heard the breath of her voice.
And he lowered his eyes.
---
The Symphony of the Void still whispered…
But now, a tender note had slipped into the melody.