His fingers had cooled, yet to him, they felt as if they were growing warmer. He clenched his fist, as if trying to hold onto something slipping through.

  "You talk differently," she lightly commented, motioning for the deer to go ahead.

  "The flowers were meant for me to take away?"

  Soren softly nodded.

  "Thank you."

  "I forgot to introduce myself—I'm Soren," he said with a warm smile.

  "Soren..." she repeated, like softly falling frost. There was an allure in her voice; he had never imagined his name could sound so mesmerizing. A blush crept up his face, slowly tinting his cheeks pink. She looked at him curiously, her gaze lingering on his face, though her eyes held only purity.

  "Sylara," she said, without blinking.

  "It sounds like it belongs in a story."

  She tilted her head—it was like a cherry blossom drifting in the wind. Her eyes glowed, and before Soren could find words to delay her departure, she vanished, as though she had never been there at all.

  Soren raised his head; the vastness of the sky embraced his gaze.

  Next time… next time, he’d do better.

  He walked home with a quiet ember burning in his chest. When he sat down at his desk, the words came—unbidden, fluid, alive.

  Soft showers, dappled light, and swirling smoke

  In the depths of haze, something awoke

  A story began to softly weave

  Its center held in quiet belief

  Far away, Sylara gently rubbed her fingers.

  She had felt a warmth—one unlike Lumina’s, or the soft closeness of her woodland companions.

  It was subtle.

  But it was welcoming.

  "Soren," she whispered again. She knew he had caught her attention. A small part of her, unfamiliar yet gentle, looked forward to meeting him once more.

  Glacina watched Sylara’s return. There was wonder in her expression—something new, something not born within the walls of the palace. Her glance turned icy as she looked in the direction of the town.

  At that same moment, Soren looked at the painting he had just finished. It didn’t do her justice. There was something ethereal about her—something no ordinary paints could ever truly capture. Still, he considered gifting it to her, a fragment of his impression of her presence.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Perhaps then… he too would stay in her thoughts, even if just for a moment.

  A few days later, Soren couldn't resist the urge to see her and entered the woods once more, he searched for the deer he had seen with her. It was a difficult task one that had made him lost his way. He gazed around, a little confused. All the trees looked similar, the same serpentine narrow paths surrounded him, he sat down to take a breather.

  "Are you lost?" A gentle voice startled him, his eyes landed on Sylara, she was elegantly sitting on the tree branch. A soft peach gown gracefully enveloped her frame, blue eyes gazed at him attentively. He softly chuckled, leaning against the tree bark. "Yes and No." Next moment she stood a few paces away from him. Her eyes seemed to carry stars. "Can you do that again?"

  "Do what?" he warmly asked as a smile played on his lips. "That laugh..."

  "It's natural, I cannot recreate it." She gently nodded. He slowly continued, "But if you spend more time with me, you can get to hear it again." There was a mischievous glimmer in the brown eyes. She was about to sit next to him, when he asked her to stop for a moment, he spread his outercoat on the ground so that dirt wouldn't wreck her clothes. "Do you like stories, Sylara?" he asked. "Do you have one to narrate?" she counter-questioned him. "Only if you're fine with listening to it." She gently acquiesced. Soren began to tell her of his life in the city, her eyes focused on him. Soren noticed how his figure reflected in those blue jewels, the wonder in those eyes, the fascination her expressions held.

  The sky gradually started to darken, and Soren slowly began to conclude the conversation for the day.

  "Would you help me get back to my house?"

  Sylara seemed to awaken from a trance and gently nodded. She stood up and began to walk in a direction, and Soren slowly followed her—like a star quietly guiding him through the deepening dusk. After a while, they reached the edge of the woods, and his house was just up ahead.

  He gazed at her, and his heart quietly wished the distance had been a bit longer.

  "That's my house... Thank you for bringing me all the way, Sylara."

  "Don't try to find me in the woods," she said softly. "You may get lost again."

  Soren looked at her in surprise, then softly chuckled, his eyes twinkling.

  "How else can I meet you again?"

  Sylara looked at him, her eyes softening, and then she smiled. She raised her hand, and it hovered in front of him for a moment before gently touching his forehead. A glow bloomed at the point of contact.

  Soren felt a sudden chill run down his back, and then a slow, comforting warmth began to seep in. She lowered her hand and stepped back. In the middle of his forehead, a silver snowflake shimmered faintly-subtle, luminescent.

  "If you want to see me," she said, her voice light but certain, "think of me, and I’ll appear before you."

  Her voice lingered in the air, though she was already gone—leaving behind only specks of snow that shimmered softly in the twilight. He flushed and sat down, covering his face in his arms.

  "Is she going to appear every time I think of her?" he muttered to himself.

  Sylara was back in her room. She could feel him thinking about her.

  The stillness of her world was now laced with something vibrant—a quiet hum that pulsed through the silence.

  She might need to change the summoning sigil.

  Like this, she wouldn’t be able to tell when he truly wished to see her.