#ciha

She returned now to Silvermoon, passing under the same gilded gates as she had the last time, only now she headed back in to the city. It had never been the same after the Fall. Half the city lay in ruins, a cruel reminder of the scar that lay upon their past. In all her near four hundred years she had never suffered a tragedy like it. The reminder made her scrunch up her nose and frown, dark brows knitting together briefly. Quel’thalas was still in recovery and it would take centuries to see her people rise to their former heights, if they ever did at all.

The state of the Capital was hardly the most pressing thing on her mind right now, though. She was upon the once familiar apartment building much sooner than she had anticipated. Had the walk always been that short? She must’ve made quick time. Up the stairs she went, hesitating only when she came to a stop outside the door she was looking for. She stared at it long and hard, deciding if she would be angry at him when he answered. If he answered. Ciha tucked a strand of raven-black hair behind her ear and took a calming breath. He had enough on his plate without her dredging up old wounds; her hurt could wait until more immediately pressing concerns had been dealt with.

So, she raised a pale hand to the door and knocked. And then she waited, long ears twitching with the faint rumblings of anxiety that coming here had been a mistake.

It wasn’t.

She let him stumble over his words as he stood in the doorway, surprised and ashamed and glad all at once. Part of her wanted to be petty and refuse his stuttered apology, but she just didn’t have it in her.

“Hello, Ithanar.”