The deaths of the elders hit the pavilion like a shockwave. Their threads severed from the pavilion's connection, one after the other, like fingers being torn from a hand.
For the first time in a very long time, the doors to the inner sanctum opened.
The spirits in the main hall froze. Every conversation stopped. Every blade was lowered. Every pair of pale eyes turned toward the figure emerging from the depths of the castle.
The pavilion spirit stepped out.
She was unlike the others.
She was tall, standing at nearly six foot seven. Her skin was pale as moonlight, and the outline of the diamond on her forehead burned with white flame. Her long white hair cascaded down her shoulders, reaching her lower back.
The spirits hadn't seen her leave the inner sanctum in longer than most of them could remember. Her presence alone was enough to make the air in the hall feel heavier, as if the castle itself was holding its breath.
