She conjured the screen.
It bloomed in the void before Consort like a window torn from reality itself — a flat, shimmering panel of light that showed the Maxton Mansion's ruined living room in perfect clarity. The wards that had blinded Consort were nothing to One Above.
She looked through them the way a person looks through dirty glass — irritated by the smudges, but unimpeded.
Consort watched... she figured Consort would understand more if she watched more than just explanation.
Saw the ritual circle. The hooded figures. The twelve staffs with their cold blue flames. The obsidian pillar with the boy chained to it. The box of living scales. The elder reaching into the light. The chained witch with her silver hair and her manacled hands and her voice that carried the weight of centuries.
Saw the tears of Victoria and Delilah poured onto Danton's chest.
Saw Sienna's blood absorbed into skin that was not hers.
