ELYRA
The letter was harder than the papers.
The papers had been easy. Legal language. Clean lines. Sign here, seal here, done. She'd written annulment contracts before — well, she'd watched her father's lawyers write them, which was close enough. The mechanics of ending a marriage were surprisingly simple. A few clauses. A few signatures. Five years of love and grief and shared beds and empty cradles, reduced to ink on parchment.
The letter to Seralyne was different.
Elyra sat at her writing desk with a candle guttering beside her elbow and a blank page staring up at her and she couldn't find the words. Not because there were too few of them. Because there were too many.
Dear Sera —
She crossed it out. Started again.
Seralyne —
