Cassiopeia's View And I'm still so blue,

Morwenna felt Gjalla’s words settle into her, a powerful balm against wounds she’d tried to bury. As the strength in her sister’s voice threaded itself through her like a lifeline, Morwenna’s eyes grew wet. Her own heart clung to Gjalla’s gaze, unable to hide the depth of her relief and sorrow.

Nyke gīmigon ao issi mōris, kostilus. Yn syt ānogar emilun se dāezira ūndegon, īlva rūsīr iksos iāngilūks, iā īlva skoriot. Kesir hēnkirī gīmigon ao rūsīr issi īlon iā vie ziry. Kessa nūmāzma gaomagon naejot ēdruta,

Morwenna’s voice was low, barely a whisper against the dark. Her gaze softened as she spoke, the words soothing yet weighted, each syllable an offering. The last few moments between them had tugged loose every carefully woven thread that had held her heart intact. Gjalla’s warmth was a balm she had nearly forgotten—nearly, but not quite. She leaned into her sister, the briefest smile flickering at the corners of her mouth as she pulled herself closer to those days when they knew each other like their own breath.

She exhaled deeply, pressing her forehead against Gjalla’s for a moment longer before drawing back, her eyes catching the glimmer of moonlight reflected in her sister's.

Morwenna paused, searching her sister’s eyes, wondering if all that had once bound them could be re-knitted, if their rift could be bridged by the strength of their loyalty to one another. Kesīr ao māzigon īlva rūsīr ēzi hen hen qintirī, ao gīmigon iksan iā ao iā lēkia syt nyke jāhor jorrāelagon ao sesīr. Ānogar vaores hedrī daor naejot ilzigon. Aō gaomagon aō sōvēt? Aō gaomagon nūmāzma rūsīr, kostilus?