In the beginning, the letters from Élisabeth arrived with an almost rhythmic regularity. Four day. Sometimes five. Rarely more than a week would pass.
I had grown accustomed to that cadence without truly realising it.
Every few days, I would hear the academy porter's footfalls in the library corridor, followed by a hushed voice calling my name.
"A letter for you, Mr Laurent."
But slowly, something began to shift. The next letter arrived after eight days. I did not dwell on it at first; Élisabeth's new academy likely held a more demanding schedule. Or perhaps she was merely preoccupied with adjusting to her new surroundings.
When the letter finally arrived, I opened it at my usual desk in the library. Her handwriting remained unchanged, yet the missive was somewhat shorter than was customary.
Adrian,
These past few days have been quite bustling here.
This academy holds far more engagements than I had imagined. Several noble families from the surrounding districts visit frequently, and it seems the students here rather enjoy the attention.
I myself am still trying to comprehend how most of their conversations can endure for so long without touching upon a single interesting topic. I hope our old library remains as quiet as ever.
— Élisabeth
I read the letter twice.
There was nothing explicitly different; her tone felt the same. Yet, for some reason, I felt as though something was missing from its lines.
A few days later, I overheard something that made that feeling even more difficult to ignore.
Two students in the academy courtyard were speaking of noble families in the northern district.
One of them mentioned the name Armand.
"I heard the daughter of that family is now studying at the northern academy."
"Lady Élisabeth?"
"Yes. Many prominent families have been gathering there of late."
"Are they seeking to secure a match for her?"
The first student offered a small laugh.
"That is usually the reason families of that station do such things."
I walked past them without slowing my pace. Yet their words remained vivid in my mind long after I had returned to the library.
That night, I reopened several of Élisabeth's older letters—those that had arrived in the first weeks following her departure.
Her handwriting appeared longer, freer.
Some sentences felt almost like a live discourse. I read a portion of a letter she had sent weeks prior:
Adrian, sometimes I feel the library at this academy is too vast.
The space is so grand that the sound of one's own footsteps feels foreign. I find myself missing the small desk in the corner of our old library. At least there, there was always someone who appeared far too serious whilst reading a mathematics book.
I closed the letter slowly. There is something peculiar about the way memory functions. Occasionally, a few simple lines from the past can feel far more alive than a conversation that has only just occurred.
The following days passed more sluggishly than usual. I continued to write to her. Yet, each time I completed a letter and pressed my seal upon it, I began to realise that there were things beyond the governance of ink or parchment. Time. And distance.
A few days later, I received another letter from her. I opened it in my small chamber that night.
Adrian,
the academy has become increasingly crowded of late.
Several noble families have arrived to attend the autumn festivities, and the students seem to find it quite a charming diversion.
I am not entirely certain what to think of it all. But at least the library remains a fairly quiet sanctuary.
— Élisabeth
I read the letter for a long time.
The sentences were still polite. They still felt like Élisabeth. Yet something within them felt slightly more distant than before.
I did not know if the change was truly there, or if it was merely something I had begun to conjure myself.
That night, I attempted to read as usual. But my thoughts kept returning to a possibility I had never truly considered with any gravity: that Élisabeth's world was far more expansive than the small world I had known. And that in that world…
there might be someone far more worthy of standing at her side than a mathematics student who spent the better part of his time in a library.
I extinguished my lamp early that night. But even as the room fell into shadow and the city outside the window grew silent, one thought continued to circle my mind.
That perhaps, one day, the letters would cease to arrive.
And when that day came…
I might never truly know if it was because of time, or because someone else had finally taken the place I had only ever occupied through ink and paper.