The Whisper of Winter

The garden had grown quiet after Sasha left.

Victor stood there for a long while, watching the path she'd taken, the faint echo of her steps still lingering in his mind like an afterimage that refused to fade. The silence pressed in, soft but heavy, carrying with it the first chill of evening.

He finally exhaled, tilting his head up toward the sky. The moon had risen—pale and solemn, casting its silver light over the courtyard. The breeze that swept through carried the crisp scent of changing seasons, brushing against his face like a quiet reminder.

"It's colder tonight," he murmured to himself. His breath came out in a faint cloud.

The leaves rustled faintly overhead, and he could feel it in the air—that subtle shift that only someone who paid attention would notice. The world was turning toward winter.

He smirked faintly. "So this world has seasons too… summer, rain, winter. Even that's the same."

It felt strangely grounding. Even in this realm—so far from the one he'd once called home—some patterns still remained. Familiar, cyclical, human. It made him wonder what kind of winter this land held. Gentle? Harsh? Beautiful, or cruel?

His eyes drifted back to the moon. "I wonder if it'll snow here," he said quietly, almost wistfully.

The garden bench behind him caught his attention again. He moved toward it, sitting down with a soft sigh. His body eased into the wood, but his mind was elsewhere—circling back to that single moment from earlier.

Sasha's expression when she looked at him. The warmth in her voice. The tremor in her breath when their lips had met.

It wasn't his first kiss, not by far—but something about it had felt… different. Real, maybe.

He leaned back, eyes closing. "That girl…" he murmured under his breath. "She's dangerous in her own way."

The quiet hum of night deepened, and for a moment, the only sound was the wind brushing through the leaves. Then—something shifted.

A faint shimmer passed before his eyes.

From his lap, a pulse of violet light flickered, almost like mist rising from his skin. The air thickened, humming softly, until the mist began to twist, shape, and solidify.

A familiar scent—a faint trace of roses mixed with starlight—filled the air as the form of a woman took shape before him.

Silver hair spilled like liquid moonlight down her shoulders. Twin black horns curled elegantly from her head, catching the faint glow of the moon. Her violet eyes gleamed—sharp, amused, and affectionate all at once.

Violet.

She smiled, a knowing curve of her lips. "Still thinking about her, aren't you?"

Victor didn't flinch. He just gave a small, dry chuckle. "You really enjoy sneaking up on me."

"I don't sneak," she said, folding her arms, feigning offense. "You're just too easy to read."

He tilted his head, pretending to think. "Or maybe you just make assumptions too easily."

Her tail flicked behind her, and she leaned closer, her voice lowering to a teasing whisper. "So you weren't thinking about her?"

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Violet…"

She grinned. "That's not a no."

"Are you jealous again?"

Her expression softened instantly—then she pouted. "Maybe."

Victor laughed quietly, shaking his head. "You never change."

"Why would I?" she said with a small, mock huff. "Someone has to remind you that you're still capable of feeling."

He looked at her, the smile fading into something gentler. "You think I've forgotten?"

"I think you try to," she said, sitting beside him now. The bench creaked slightly under the added weight. "Every time someone gets close, you act like it's an accident. Like you didn't let it happen."

He turned his eyes to the sky again. The moonlight painted his features in silver and shadow. "Maybe because it feels like I don't deserve it."

Violet's expression softened. "You always say that."

"Because it's true."

She leaned her head on his shoulder. "You know," she murmured, "for someone so strong, you really are terrible at forgiving yourself."

He didn't respond right away. The wind picked up again, tugging at his hair. Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled faintly from the city below.

"I'm not sure forgiveness is what I need," he said finally.

Violet looked up at him, her voice quieter now. "Then what do you need?"

He smiled faintly, eyes half-lidded. "Maybe just someone to sit with me until I figure it out."

Her tail brushed against his leg, playful again. "You really do have a way with words."

He looked down at her, a faint smirk returning. "It's called being honest."

"Hmm." She tilted her head, studying him, then smiled in that mischievous way that only she could. "Honest or trying to charm me?"

"Do I need to try?" he shot back.

She blinked, then laughed softly, the sound delicate and warm. "Touché."

The two sat there for a moment longer, the air between them calm, settled. Her presence was comforting—like a shadow that never left, a reminder of something old and constant in his strange new life.

Then Violet looked up again, her eyes catching his in the faint moonlight. "You should rest," she said. "It's been a long day."

He hummed in agreement. "Yeah."

Her lips curved into a soft, playful smile. "Then let's go back to the room. You can rest, and we can… talk in bed."

Victor raised an eyebrow at her tone. "Talk, huh?"

Her grin widened, and she let out a low, melodic hum. "Depends on what you start talking about."

He chuckled, standing up. "You never change, Violet."

As he straightened, her form began to shimmer again. The violet mist rose from her skin, swirling upward like smoke caught in a gentle current.

"Why not?" she said, her voice soft as her body dissolved back into light. "You wouldn't like me any other way."

The mist circled around him once, brushing against his chest like a whisper before sinking into him—merging, fading, gone.

Victor stood there alone once more, though the faint warmth of her presence lingered inside him. He glanced up at the moon one last time. The night was colder now, the scent of winter unmistakable.

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