Dorame could not remember the last time she had a spare moment to herself. It was close to curfew and the dining hall was, for lack of a better word, abandoned. A solitary candle illuminated the patch of table she had claimed as her own. Green eyes glanced down at the words that had been frantically sprawled across the parchment that lay infront of her. The letter she had received was of the utmost urgency and the writer's anxiety was clear to see in the messy lines and blined ink.
She brought the letter up to the candle and let its corner catch flame. Within seconds the fire ate away at the parchment until it evaporated into the air, leaving only a shrivelled clump in its wake.
She brought her cup to her lips and finished the last of her drink. Hoping it would give her the mental fortitude to write a reply. Though as her pen hovered over the blank sheet in front of her - all she could focus on was the time passing by. When she finally looked upwards, the candle had shrunk considerably and she knew it was probably time to retire for the night. Maybe her words would come easier after some sleep?
The young woman leant forward and blew out the candle - and suddenly the warm hue was replaced with the cool light flooding in from outside, casting everything in a sheen of blue.
It took only a second for her eyes to ajust to the darkness. But when they did she realised that she was not alone.