Ariel leaned in, her breath quiet, eyes fixed on Morpheus as he spoke. Though her heart remained tethered to the goal of protecting Arabella, the palace had opened her eyes to something else, an entire world built upon secrets, power, and magic that pulsed like a heartbeat beneath Versailles. And at the very heart of it all stood her, the first witch. The one they all seemed to speak of in reverent, hushed tones.
Morpheus caught the intensity in her gaze and offered a smile. But it was a hollow thing, a curve of lips that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"The first witch of Versailles," he began, his voice dipping into something softer, almost nostalgic, "was feared for her ability to bend the world to her will. They say she made a pact with a demon, one so powerful it bowed to her every whim. She could command the seasons to change with a flick of her fingers. Summer into winter. Spring into fall. Nothing dared disobey her."
