In Which Celina Learns to Sleep Alone

October 15, 1165

The dawn's weak glow had begun to emerge from the horizon, but Celina had still not managed to fall asleep. She kept tossing and turning, reaching to the other side of the bed for her husband--only to realize again and again that he wasn't there. He never would be. Never again would she lie beside him until they lowered her into her grave.

And yet, as torturous as the night was, she did not want the morning to come. She dreaded seeing the faces of her children as they asked if Papa had returned during the night. They would be smiling, hopeful, and she would have to be the one to shatter that peace. Perhaps it might have been kinder to just wake them, but she had found she could not; if nothing else, they deserved one last untroubled slumber.

Lina...

Her eyelids heavy, she eased herself from under the covers, glancing about for the source of the voice. Was it possible? Could there have been a mistake? "...Dalston?"

Outside, the wind howled. Celina's heart plunged to her core; it had only been a gust. The weather was taunting her. She'd known her fair share of tragedies in her thirty-three years, but she had never thought the world a cruel place before tonight.

Resigned, she sunk back beneath the blankets and shivered. She ran her foot along Dalston's side of the bed; the imprint of his form still lingered from the night before, but it would not be long before that too faded away. She would share her days with her children, but the nights were her own now, lonely and miserable. She had been so happy for so long; by this point in her life, she should have figured that would change. She should have known that bliss was but a visiting friend who invariably had to leave at some point.

But she hadn't. Now, she had to learn to sleep alone.

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