(Continuation of Chapter 1- SNOWMEN) The ride back was silent. The horse’s hooves struck the frozen earth with a rhythm that only deepened Celestia’s unease. Chryst hummed to himself, brushing snow from his coat, as though the storm had been nothing more than a playground. Celestia, however, held her shawl close, her mind burning with the weight of betrayal. When they reached the palace, the warmth of the hall did little to thaw her anger. Aurora was waiting, her golden hair catching the firelight, her eyes wide with innocence — and knowledge. Celestia stepped forward, her voice sharp but trembling. “Aurora. Tell me… what did Chryst say to you?” Aurora hesitated, glancing at her father. Chryst’s blue eyes flickered, a silent command, but Celestia’s gaze held her daughter fast. “He told me,” Aurora whispered, “about Questria. About… What happened and...” Celestia’s breath caught. The words she had fought to keep hidden now hung in the air, fragile and dangerous. She turned to Chryst, her voice rising. “You gave her the burden of truth before she was ready. You stole her peace!” Chryst stepped closer, his tone calm, almost playful. “I gave her what was hers. You call it burden; I call it destiny. She deserves to know.” Celestia’s hazel eyes burned. “No, Chryst. I demanded one thing from you; one. You thought these were just some words and telling to someone wouldn’t do much, just like how your sister left you.” Aurora looked between them, confusion clouding her face. The fire crackled, the snow still clung to their clothes, and the silence of the palace seemed to hold its breath. Celestia’s voice rose, sharp, fierce, angry, and empty, “Dear, if you want consultation or comfort, I am there, I won’t burden you, like your father.” Chryst stepped forward, his tone defiant. “She is stronger than you believe. She deserves to know everything!” The fire crackled, the storm pressed against the windows, and then Celestia grew higher. “Enough, I am done. I am done. Nobody heard that, nobody cared, so I have decided, I am done.” The silence that followed was heavier than the snow outside. Chryst looked startled, she walked out, and Chryst tried to call her out, but his ego stopped him from doing so. She turned away, angry, her shawl slipping from her shoulders. Her duty had always been to protect Aurora’s innocence, to shield her from truths too sharp for teen hood. But now, she realized that desire had already been shattered. The snow fell harder against the palace walls, as if echoing her anger, Chryst’s ego, and Aurora’s “maybe” innocence.
CHAPTER- 2 THE RETURN TO SILENCE The palace walls felt heavier than the storm outside. Aurora’s voice still echoed in Celestia’s mind –- “Aurora needs to know all of this!”. She thought it is the best that she left the luxury and let Chryst make his own decisions like he is. Before dawn, Celestia slipped away. The corridors were quiet, the torches dim, and Chryst slept as though nothing had shattered. She mounted the white horse, its golden eyes glinting in the dark, and rode through the meadows until the palace was only a shadow behind her. The cottage appeared at last, small and weathered, its chimney breathing faint smoke into the morning sky. It was the place where she had once dreamed freely, before crowns and burdens, before Chryst’s visions. Her brother opened the door, startled. “Celestia?” His voice carried disbelief. “What brings you here, sister, in the storm?” She stepped down, her shawl trailing in the snow, her hazel eyes weary. “Aurora knows,” she whispered. “Chryst told her everything. And…I just think that I need a break.” Andrew had always been a brother, a comforter, and a companion before Celestia’s farewell. She could talk to him about anything, he always answered, except when he was not in the mood. He placed a hand on her shoulder, guiding her inside. The firelight warmed her skin, but not her heart. She sat by the hearth, staring into the flames, listening to the storm outside. For the first time, Celestia felt the silence of the cottage press upon her — not as comfort, but as truth. Her duty had been broken, and now she had to decide whether to rebuild it… or let the snow bury it forever. She turned, her shawl slipping from her shoulders, her hazel eyes weary. “I had one duty, and I didn’t do it. I am not exaggerating anything, but I need a break from them for a while, maybe forever. The palace is no longer mine. Aurora… she knows everything now. Chryst told her.” Andrew stepped inside, closing the door against the storm. His gaze searched hers, steady but troubled. “So, a break it is?” “Yes, and it will be. Till I crush his ego.” Celestia turned back to the fire, her eyes glistening in its glow. “Wait for a while, if he doesn’t return with a crush ego-self, I am declaring myself independent of him.” The storm pressed harder against the cottage walls, snow piling high, muffling the world outside. Inside, only the fire spoke, crackling softly, as if reminding her that even ashes can burn again. The fire in Andrew’s cottage burned low, its crackle steady, while Celestia sat unmoving, crushed beneath the silence. Yet far away, the palace was anything but still. Aurora had been struggling with her corset, and castle problems. Servants whispered them in corridors; advisors repeated them in council chambers: “I heard that the queen and the king separated for a reason, who do you think is right?” The declaration spread like wildfire, unsettling the court. Chryst strode through the halls with a strange calm, his blue eyes glinting. He laughed with guards, shaped snowmen in the courtyard as though nothing had broken, his playfulness masking the fracture beneath. To him, Aurora was just another victim of his beans that he always spilled. But the palace itself trembled. The council argued in hushed tones, some praising Aurora’s strength, others fearing the danger of prophecy revealed too soon. The queen’s absence only deepened the unrest — her silence was read as weakness, her retreat as surrender. Aurora wandered alone through the great hall, her golden hair catching the torchlight. She felt the weight of eyes upon her, yet carried herself with a steadiness that unsettled those who watched. She was no longer the child they thought her to be. And so, while Celestia sat crushed in the cottage, the palace spiralled into fracture — destiny claimed, innocence contested, and silence turned into chaos.
