I think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love
It took a considerable amount of time for his chambers within the Citadel to be cleaned and fit to live in once more. Somnus had been tedious about everything, careful and meticulous in only the way a blind man could, hyper focused and in a way, terribly obsessive. A few bold individuals had poked their heads in to inquire if he needed assistance, but with a patient smile and a shake of the head, he denied them every time yet thanked them for their offer. This was his duty alone to undertake.
His bedding had been entirely replaced, his desk organized so that he knew exactly where everything was (quills on the left in a jar, ink pot on the left, stack of parchments and scrolls to the right, those of highest importance in the middle of his workspace), his books placed upon the shelves assorted by alphabetical order, his personal altar to Oriens tidy and magnificent just beneath the open balustrade of his chambers. The hanger that held his cloak was fixed near the door, just within reach so he would never forget it whenever he stepped out…
Which, embarrassingly, was not very often, save for his somewhat frequent trips to the Library.
Quite honestly the Library was his only place of visiting, but mostly because he enjoyed the solitude and the quiet. The halls of leaves and limbs felt like home, and the aspect of ‘home’ was in short supply.
It was there that Somnus found himself that evening, lost in a great stack of tomes. Alba roosted nearby atop of a tall bookshelf, watching as the dunalino flipped through the open book on the worktable page by page, his useless eyes scanning every word as though he could truly see what was written. Perhaps, by Oriens’ grace, he could. The barn owl had never actually asked, but she knew that Oriens had favored Somnus even before his ascension to Dawn King of Delumine.
Pausing in his reading, a thoughtful frown upon his greyed lips, Somnus mulled over what he had read.
… Although the patron of Delumine was a humble God, and Somnus could not imagine his good friend wishing to make a big deal about that. His frown deepened, the milky-green of his useless eyes troubled.
So focused on his own inner contemplations, Somnus was unaware that he and Alba had company. The barn owl, however, slowly rotated her head so that she could better see their sudden visitor; a pale lady she did not know, but there was something about the way she carried herself that caused Alba to not worry.
