[Dawnspire Wing—Private Garden—The Next Morning—Lavinia's POV]
Yesterday, sleep had outright betrayed me. I tossed and turned like a restless ball bouncing off every corner of my bed, sheets tangled like vines strangling me, while my mind refused to grant me even a shred of peace.
Papa's words. Osric's question. The vision at the altar.
Each one circled my head like vultures—merciless, hungry, waiting for me to collapse so they could devour what was left of my sanity.
And as if that weren't enough, there was Rey. My oh-so-mysterious assistant who healed my wound in the forest with the kind of effortless power that even Papa pretends not to notice. The way everyone brushes him off, the way Papa looks at him, the way he brushes me off with that bland, mundane air—it's all suspicious.
So suspicious that if this were some novel, he'd definitely be the hidden mastermind character.
