She didn't know how long she had sat there on the edge of the bed. The solitary candle on her bedside table seemed to capture and hold her attention. The flickering little flame, a hypnotic, writhing creature of gold and white, reflected in her emerald eyes. The rest of the small, sparsely-furnished bedroom, one of a dozen in the Prancing Pony inn, was bathed in shadow.
Thoughts drifted through her mind as if they, too, were shadows. One following another, each one slightly different and unique. A strange, internal argument.
It was reckless to care for someone.
But it felt so pleasant. To see him appear in the doorway of the room where she'd hidden herself. To be noticed. Cared about.
It was madness. Stupidity.
It was harmless. They were mere acquaintances. Not even friends, really. He wouldn't notice when she vanished. And if he did, he'd forget her quickly. So easily.
Back and forth went her thoughts. Fear, shame, anxiety, countered with declarations and swearing and promises to walk away.
Her face was like stone. Cool, smooth, and unreadable, even as the tempest waged internally. Eventually, she leaned over and blew the candle out, then laid back in the darkness, staring into the empty, black void overhead.
The way he'd stared at her tonight. That moment, when the polite smiles vanished, and they were simply two grim, lonely, lost souls.
It was already haunting her.
