“You are either louder than you seem, or I am not as good at focusing as I once was.”
Anne stepped further into the room, closing the door softly behind her before replying, her voice steady despite the hour and the unexpectedness of finding him there. “I am usually told I do not make much noise when I move.”
“I shall bear that in mind.” Dorian chuckled.
“So that you can stare at me more?” she joked.
He tutted playfully. “Not you too.”
She laughed softly, moving closer to him.
The firelight shifted as she approached, revealing the object in his hand. It was a sketch, carefully drawn, the lines precise in a way that suggested familiarity rather than formality. She took a seat nearby, careful not to intrude on his space, when he set down the sketch beside him.
“I did not mean to intrude,” she said quickly. “Do not stop on my account.”
“I did not, and you are not intruding. You cannot do so in your own home, after all.”
Anne nodded once.
She looked down at the sketch, her gaze lingering on it. It was a sketch of a young woman with large, smiling eyes and a graceful frame. She felt a twinge of jealousy, for it did not resemble her at all, but she tried not to dwell on it.
“Who is that?” she asked.
A pause followed.
“Nobody in particular,” he said quietly. “I am practicing my shading skills.”
She nodded again, deciding not to ask him anything further about it.
After a moment, he sighed. “You will find out eventually. It is my sister, Lily.”
She blinked, having never heard of her. “You have never spoken about her.”
“I used to,” he replied, leaning back slightly as though creating a little more space between them. “Then I stopped.”
“Why would you stop speaking about someone who mattered to you?”
“Because people do not tend to simply listen when you do. Some change the subject as quickly as they can, and others look at you as though they are waiting for you to finish grieving so they can stop feeling uncomfortable about it.”
Anne looked down at her hands for a moment. The fact that he had mentioned grieving told her everything she needed to know.
She did not want to force anything more out of him. She knew the feeling of being pressured to speak when not ready all too well, and she did not want to do that to someone else.
“I can certainly understand the feeling.”
Dorian studied her for a moment. “Has it happened to you as well?”
“My father died,” she said simply, as if it required no further explanation.
He nodded slightly, as though acknowledging something unspoken between them. She did not have to elaborate, and she was grateful for that.
“I think people assume that grief fades,” she continued after a pause, her gaze still lowered. “It does not. It simply becomesquieter so that you can function around it, but it never leaves entirely. It merely stays in places you learn not to disturb.”
“I disagree. In my experience, it does not become quieter. You just learn how to carry it without breaking every time it rears its head again.”
Anne looked up at him, mulling over his words.
All things considered, she had not lost her father that long ago, but the way Dorian spoke of grief suggested that he had lost his sister years before.
