The palace was quieter after almost dying. Not peaceful. It can Never be peaceful.
Just quieter in the way a battlefield became quiet after the screaming stopped. Like the walls themselves were listening, waiting to see who would bleed next.
Elara walked through it in silence.
Servants moved out of her way too quickly. Guards lowered their eyes.
Even the concubines, those elegant little vultures in silk, had suddenly remembered they had urgent business elsewhere.
How touching. It really is fascinating how shame can make people change their entire equilibrium.
Nothing terrified people more than surviving your own execution.
She should have felt victorious… Instead, she felt tired.
Tired in the bones. Tired in the chest. Tired in that place where trust used to live before people ruined it.
Madame Tilda followed half a step behind like a particularly judgmental ghost.
Really is iconic how she thought this old woman didn't have any feeling in her heart.
