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“Lord Tartaglia?” Ekaterina knocked.
The Harbinger’s eyes flickered up from the document in his hands. “Come in.”
The mahogany door slowly creaked open. Ekaterina poked her head inside.
"My Lord," she addressed, "A letter has just arrived. It’s addressed to you."
Tartaglia waved her over. “Bring it here.”
The receptionist scurried to Tartaglia's desk and quietly handed him the sealed envelope, which he took with a thanks. She inclined her head in response before hurrying out.
Once he heard the door click shut, Childe looked down at the ivory envelope in curiosity, admiring the gilded seal stamp and intricate calligraphy. He nearly ripped the cover in half while trying not to destroy the stamp. When he finally opened the letter, however, his eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.
He leaned back in his chair with a low whistle. Marriage, huh? His mouth curled into a forlorn smile as he examined the picture that accompanied the invitation.
There you were, gazing lovingly at your fiancé(e); and there they were, looking back at you with the same kind of endearment that the Harbinger once had for you.
Had.
“When was the last time I saw you?” He mumbled to himself, gloved fingers brushing over your photographed figure with glazed-over eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
What was there to apologize for? The damage was done. Tartaglia knew this was going to be unexpected news for you, and he knew it would be hard for you to come to terms with it; and yet, all he could do was ball his hands into fists and watch your eyes fill up with tears.
You nodded slowly, biting your cheek. You looked to one side to avoid eye contact with him, but Childe still caught sight of a tear rolling down your cheek.
“I…” You let out a shaky breath before continuing, “I understand.”
The Harbinger rolled back on his heels and nodded silently, unsure of what else to say. To his dismay, you spared him one last smile, albeit a sad one, before turning around and walking away.
He thought that that was the last time he would see or hear from you...
…Until now. Granted, the news of your engagement was a lot for him to take in, but who was he to bewail?
No. He had no right to lament your happiness, not after tearing your heart in two and pushing you away. Not after he put his Harbinger duties before you.
He thought his feelings for you had subsided, but after rereading the invite, Childe felt a knot beginning to form in his throat. Whether it was out of joy for you and your betrothed, or out of sadness for the failed relationship he had with you, he wasn't quite sure.
He wanted to reach out to you and share his thoughts, but he couldn't. He couldn't be selfish. Why should he even bother?
Still, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t think about you from time to time. How were you doing? What were you up to? Did you explore all of Teyvat already like you told him you’d like to do?
Did you think of him even when your lover stood by your side? Has he crossed your mind ever since you parted ways? Were you happy?
Of course you were; your radiant smile was enough proof of that.
Unspoken confessions and profound feelings of regret lingered in the air. At the bottom of the invitation, penned in blue, he read:
