Third Person POV
Evening came slowly, the way evenings came in early autumn, the sun taking its time to drop behind the trees, the shadows stretching long and thin across the grass before the light was properly gone.
The bench under the old oak had stopped being comfortable hours ago. Helen had shifted position so many times she had lost count, trying to find somewhere the old wood would meet her kindly. But it would not.
She had made peace with the ache in her back and the stiffness in her legs and simply sat.
She was tired. Not just from the bench. From everything underneath the bench. From the years of watching and waiting and making herself small.
From the weight of Azura against her chest every night, small and trusting and needing her for everything.
From the stone that had settled behind her ribs the moment she understood what Lysander wanted, and had not moved since.
