"Hmm, no…"

Ingrid crumpled up another piece of parchment. She intended to throw it in the bin beside her oak desk, but since it was overflowing with her other failed attempts at letters, the rubbish fell on the floor. She sighed. For some reason, an urge to clean didn't bother to manifest, nor did shame at wasting loads of paper.

She leaned back on her chair and stretched out her arms to soothe her aching back. Nothing sounded right. Embroidering detailed accounts of the past moons to her father and brothers took mere minutes. Her progress staggered when her allies were involved, since she was still growing accustomed to a life where she didn't share every day with them, but she could manage.

So what was so hard about writing to him?

She stared out the arched window. Countless snowflakes built the glowing white landscape that she recognized as her homeland. However, the view felt foreign, as if she was travelling on military campaigns throughout the Empire or Alliance even now. She came back to reality whenever she remembered that she had stayed in one location for months and that those territories no longer existed. Ingrid wondered how it could be possible to miss those times while feeling like she still lived in them.

An epiphany jolted the former warrior from her seat. Determined to finish the message this time, she dipped her owl feather in ink and began.

Lone Moon, Year 1186.

To my cherished friend Sylvain,

How are you? It's been too long since I've seen you, about seven months. This would be my 11th letter now, but the end of the year warrants a bit of reflecting, so I figured I'd write to you again. Besides, I still haven't received a response. I know you aren't really the margrave type, what with the loads of work involved, but I expected you'd manage a little better! Or maybe you're not even getting these?

She considered that option for a second, thinking she might need to have a talk with her messenger later.

Anyway, in case you haven't, I'll summarize them for you. The Reiner family seemed to be as impatient as mine, so Baron Philip and I were wed almost immediately after I arrived home at the start of the Wyvern Moon. I wish I could've invited you and our friends, but it was a simple ceremony with only our relatives. I meant it when I said "impatient", you know.

Ingrid stared at the candle's dancing flame. She had never considered having a grand wedding, not even on the numerous occasions her father brought up the subject. Now, it seemed like it could have been a perfect excuse to reunite with all her loved ones.

She pushed that thought aside to keep writing.

While it's certainly different from Galatea, living in the western Reiner Manor isn't unpleasant. I even have my own chambers and servants that I swear materialize instantly when I ring a bell. Is this how you and Felix have always lived? It's almost tiresome. They don't even let me do my laundry! As for my husband (Seiros, I still need to get used to that), although he isn't very talkative, he's polite enough. I can see he's pressured to carry on his bloodline as well, so we at least have that in common. You were very worried when I left the monastery, considering the unsavory tendencies of some of my previous suitors, so I'm thankful to tell you everything is alright.

But enough about me. How is everyone faring at the margravate? Are your parents well? This winter has been especially harsh. How are you feeling? I heard from His Majesty that you engaged in battle with the chief of one of Sreng's most distinguished clans mere moments before you held a peace conference with him! I should have known you'd still be as careless as ever. Nonetheless, I'm glad you're set on improving relations with them. Maybe I should accompany you on your next mission to ensure you don't get your head chopped off, huh?

Perhaps she should scratch that last part. There was no way of knowing if her husband would allow her to travel such a lengthy distance anytime soon. Ingrid's gaze drifted to the starlit sky and to the line where it met the earth, wondering where in the distance lay the territories of Gautier. She recalled the long halls that carried the echo of her steps and voice as she ran around with her playmates. The fountains in the courtyard made for perfect hiding spots whenever they had snowball fights, which somehow always ended with her hitting Sylvain in the face and Dimitri stifling a laugh. At night, they all huddled around the fireplace to protect themselves from the fierce northern cold, listening to Felix and Glenn tell legends of chivalry.

It dawned on Ingrid just how long it had been since she last saw her friends.

I'm worried about you, Sylvain. Where are you? Are you avoiding me? Please, reply to me. I want to know if you're OK.

He used to write to her at least once every few weeks. During wartime, the remaining Blue Lions communicated with impeccable punctuality to ensure the others of their safety. It wasn't as necessary in times of peace, but Felix and she kept the momentum. Ingrid could understand a month or two without correspondence, but seven?

Before she could ask herself if Sylvain truly didn't want to talk to her, a wave of nausea hit her. She hunched over with a hand over her mouth and the other on the desk, making the pot of ink tremble dangerously. It didn't last long, thank goodness, but she knew it would return.

It was a cruel reminder to stop putting off that one topic.

If I'm being honest, I'm at a loss for words. You know better than anyone that it tends to happen when I need to deliver important news, don't you?

Ingrid closed her eyes shut, as if she would return to her classroom at the Academy, the halls of Gautier or her dormitory in Galatea once she opened them. Instead, the stone walls of her room in Reiner greeted her when she did.

Taking a deep breath, she finished writing the letter.