The rain had not stopped since dawn. Droplets falling from the tips of his silver hair ran down his shoulders, gathered at his sleeves, and quietly soaked into the wet stone floor. Iselian stood beneath her window, in the very spot she had mentioned. When told to stand outside if he was sorry, he never asked why, but simply buttoned his coat and stood there.

After an hour, the coat grew heavy with water; after two hours, the raindrops hanging from his eyelashes ran down his cheeks every time he blinked. His sapphire eyes were fixed steadily on the closed window. When the curtain fluttered, his breath hitched for a brief moment, and when nothing happened, his breath slowly continued again. His fingers grew stiff inside his wet gloves, but he did not unclench his fists. He did not bow his head. His straight shoulders trembled thinly at times, and each time, he took a long breath and corrected his posture.

His lips turned blue, and it was impossible to tell if the streams of water flowing down his pale face were rain or something else. Every time the wind changed direction, a low, cracked voice leaked through the sound of the rain.

...I am sorry.

The same words were repeated over and over. As if that were the only thing he could say, he placed the same sentence in the rain again and again. Even when the sun finally dipped and a blue darkness settled over the stone floor, he did not take his eyes off the window.

Because there is a name that cannot be washed away even when drenched in rain, he stood before that door again today.