She wasn't waiting for me when I walked into my room. She wasn't at my desk, nor was she sitting on my bed, or looking out the window. I was alone.
I focused on my weave, on our connection, a bloom of warmth, but nothing else. She was elsewhere.
I ran a bath, and soaked in water just below boiling. My skin burned. Good. Over time the water cooled. I climbed out, wrapped a towel around my waist, and dried my hair with another one.
I didn't bother dressing. The towel was enough.
The locks to my door clicked. No surprise visits.
I sat at my desk, and focused for a moment. The spirit lamps dimmed, and a fire burned into existence in the fire place beside me. The hot bath, the roaring fire. Neither did enough to warm the cold emptiness I felt.
He was gone. It still hurt.
