Free Web NovelNatasha Petrova suddenly snapped her eyes open.
In the dimness, the extinguished steam wall lamp on the ceiling looked like a dying eye, the silhouette of its cast-iron bracket blurred.
She had another nightmare.
The contents of the dream had already begun to scatter, like ashes blown apart by the wind—leaving only fragments behind.
Snow.
Blood.
A young man lay collapsed in an alleyway, his short sandy hair soaked in a dark liquid, his round-framed glasses askew on the bridge of his nose.
No.
Not that one.
Earlier. Deeper.
It was the snow of her hometown.
It was the frozen river outside Lyubertsy Town.
It was the expression on Igor's face when he stuffed her into the cellar—a look of pure terror that she never saw on her brother's face again.
Even after all this time, she still hadn't grown accustomed to the sensation of these nightmares.
Those few seconds after waking were exceptionally painful; her consciousness hadn't fully returned to reality, her body still ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) remembered the temperature of the dream, and her heart still beat to its rhythm.
You know you're awake, but the world hasn't fully accepted you yet.
You hang in the middle, like a drop of water clinging to the edge of the eaves, unsure whether to crawl back or fall.
Natasha rubbed her eyes.
Her fingertips brushed against her eyelashes and touched a hint of moisture.
She didn't pay it any mind.
Pushing off the edge of the bed with both hands, she slowly sat up, the quilt sliding from her shoulders to bunch at her waist.
The wintry air pressed against her exposed skin, bringing a fine layer of chill.
The curtains weren't fully closed.
A small corner of the curtain on the right window was turned up, likely blown askew by the wind when she opened it for ventilation at noon, and she had forgotten to fix it.
A narrow sliver of light squeezed through the gap.
Low and thick, its color was like diluted rust water.
The light crawled across the floor, illuminating only a small section of the room—from beneath the windowsill to the narrow aisle between the two beds, and a bit further, just reaching the foot of Pavela's bed.
Everything else was submerged in shadow.
The textbooks stacked on the desk, the school uniform jacket hanging on the wardrobe door, the glass of water on the nightstand poured at some unknown time.
All were mere gray silhouettes.
Like a sketch discarded by the artist after only the initial draft.
An extremely distant sound came from the hallway.
A door to some room was opened and then closed; footsteps passed by, gradually fading away.
Deep within the walls, the steam pipes emitted a low, continuous hum, like the slow and heavy breathing of the building itself.
The scent of lavender and beeswax.
The standard scent of the Silver Moon Pavilion.
But on this twilight evening, in this room where only half was being used, that scent didn't smell cozy.
It smelled empty.
Natasha sighed.
She shifted her gaze away from the sunset light and looked down at her hands. The calluses on her thumb webs and knuckles glinted with a dull luster in the gloom.
She clenched her fists and then released them.
At times like this, she thought of her roommate again.
It had been nearly a month since the start of the term.
She really didn't know where she had gone.
That explosion had happened on the very first day.
Then came the five-day lockdown; after it was lifted, Pavela spent a few days in the infirmary. She had gone to visit once but was blocked by Frederick and Reinhardt with all sorts of nonsense.
Then Pavela was discharged, but she didn't return to the dormitory—it was said she was staying at her sister's manor outside the academy.
And after that, there was nothing more.
One month.
The right side of Room 307 had been empty for a full month.
Natasha wasn't the type of person who would admit she cared about this.
She just felt it was quiet.
Too quiet.
She stretched.
Her shoulder blades let out a soft crack, her muscles waking up as they stretched, the lines of her collarbones rising and falling in the dimness.
She cracked her neck and then habitually glanced back at Pavela's bed.
Just a habit.
She looked every time she woke up.
She wasn't waiting for anyone.
It was just—
She froze.
At some point, the narrow sliver of sunset light had shifted, crawling from the floor onto the edge of the opposite bed, illuminating a small section of the quilt.
The quilt was no longer folded into a neat square.
It had been wrinkled by someone sitting on it.
And on that wrinkled quilt sat a person, cross-legged.
Short silver hair.
It had grown a bit longer since their last meeting, but it was no longer as dry and frizzy as before. freēwebnovel.com
Every strand of hair carried a clean, soft luster, emitting a faint warmth in the amber of the sunset, like the first snow of winter falling in the sunlight.
She was wearing the standard female uniform of the Royal Knights Academy.
A white shirt, a dark blue jacket, and a matching pleated skirt.
The uniform fit well.
Almost too well.
Her shoulders were still narrow, her frame still small, a good deal shorter than most girls her age.
But that "brittle enough to snap" feeling was gone.
Her skin was no longer a sickly pale, but a clean, slightly warm white that almost glowed in the sunset light.
There was a very faint flush of color on her cheeks—not much, but enough to transform her face from a "fragile object" into a "living person."
The color of her lips had also deepened slightly, from nearly transparent to a pale pink.
The line of her chin was rounded and soft, her nose small and straight, the corners of her eyes upturned slightly—
Those eyes.
Pale gray leaning toward blue.
Like the surface of a frozen lake on a winter morning.
Natasha remembered those eyes.
But she didn't remember them ever being this bright.
It was as if someone had wiped away the layer of dust covering the lake's surface, revealing the original color beneath.
The whole person looked—
Natasha searched her mind for the right word.
Exquisite.
Like a blade that had been reground.
The edge was still the same edge, but every nick, rust spot, and crack had been repaired one by one, revealing the sharpness and luster that should have been there all along.
Pavela sat cross-legged on her bed, an open book spread across her knees. Her left hand pinched the corner of a page, while her right index finger pressed against a line of text.
She was reading.
To be more precise, she was learning the words.
Her gaze moved back and forth across the line, her lips moving silently as if she were reciting it. Her brow was slightly furrowed, the kind of frown one makes when encountering an unfamiliar word and trying hard to identify it.
Then, she felt Natasha's gaze.
The girl looked up.
Gray-blue eyes met blue eyes.
The sunset light passed right between them.
"...You're awake?"
Pavela spoke first.
Her voice was just as Natasha remembered—low and slightly raspy, with the quality of someone who didn't speak often suddenly opening their mouth.
But her tone was calmer than remembered.
"Long time no see."
Natasha opened her mouth.
Then she realized something.
She wasn't wearing any clothes again!
The quilt had slid to her waist when she sat up.
Her shoulders, collarbones, and a considerable area of skin below them were now exposed to the air without any cover.
Exposed to Pavela's sight.
Blood rushed to Natasha's face with extreme speed.
Starting from her neck, passing her chin, spreading to her cheeks, and finally burning the tips of her ears.
"You—"
She grabbed the quilt and yanked it up, her movement so sudden she nearly pulled herself off the bed. She wrapped the quilt up to her chin, clutching it so tightly her knuckles turned white.
"When did you get back?!"
Pavela looked at her.
Those eyes blinked.
"About... two hours ago?"
"Two—"
Natasha's voice rose half an octave before she forced it back down.
"I slept for two hours and you just sat there?!"
"Yes."
"Couldn't you have knocked!"
"I did knock."
Pavela tilted her head.
"But you were sleeping very soundly."
"So I just used my key and let myself in."
She glanced down at the book on her knees, then looked up again.
"I already knew you don't wear clothes while sleeping from last time."
"So I sat on my own bed and didn't go over to disturb you."
She said this in a very calm tone, even carrying a hint of "I've already been very considerate, what more do you want?"
Natasha's face grew even redder.
So red she could almost feel her ears burning.
She pulled the quilt up another notch, wishing she could shrink entirely inside it.
"...Couldn't you have waited until I woke up before coming in?"
"Then I might have had to stand in the hallway until tomorrow morning."
Pavela's tone was serious.
"Based on your breathing frequency and how often you toss and turn, you could probably have slept for another three to four hours."
"...You even observe things like that?"
"Habit."
After Pavela said that word, her gaze briefly drifted away for a moment.
What was contained within that "habit" was far heavier than the word itself.
But she didn't explain.
And Natasha didn't press further.
The room was quiet for a few seconds.
The steam pipes hummed deep within the walls.
The sliver of sunset light shifted again, sliding from Pavela's book page onto her fingertips.
Natasha stared at that hand.
The dark red cloth wrapped around her wrist looked exceptionally vivid in the light.
She remembered this cloth strip.
It was there on the first day of school.
A month later, it was still there.
She took a deep breath.
And let it out.
The redness on her face hadn't fully receded, the tips of her ears were still hot, and she still clutched the quilt beneath her chin.
But she spoke nonetheless.
Her voice was much lower than before, so low it was almost drowned out by the humming of the pipes.
Carrying a hint of awkwardness.
A hint of reluctance.
And a hint of relief that she would probably never admit to.
"...Welcome back."
