I stood in the center of my room long after Seraphina's scent had faded, her venomous words echoing in the silence. A child... that is power. The only thing that truly matters.
Each syllable was a carefully aimed dart, and every single one had found its mark. The gilded cage she spoke of didn't just feel like a cage; it felt like a cage built with a specific, undeniable purpose, and I was the one bird who could never sing the required song.
The unease coiled in my gut, cold and heavy. I needed to move, to think, to escape the suffocating confines of these rooms that felt less like a sanctuary and more like a gilded display case. My feet carried me out into the corridor, my steps silent on the thick carpets.
I found myself drawn to the one place in this estate that felt like it belonged to me, or at least, to the man I used to be.
The east wing library.
