With that, Nereva let her mind drift for a moment, carried away by a distant memory.
She saw herself again, pushing open the door to a vast, silent hall, lit only by a few lanterns hanging from the stone walls.
At the far end, seated behind a massive desk of dark wood, a man was writing slowly, precisely, a goblet of wine balanced effortlessly in his other hand.
His hair was short and silver.
Nereva stood in the doorway, frozen like a statue, silently watching him work.
Minutes dragged on, long and heavy. She didn't move, patient despite the slow rise of irritation within her.
The only sound breaking the stillness was the scratch of his pen across the pages.
An entire hour slipped by.
An hour spent watching that unmoving figure, utterly absorbed, seemingly unaware of her presence.
At last, unable to contain herself, Nereva let a comment slip, her voice teetering between irony and insolence:
"Did you summon me here just so I could admire you, master?"
