The wind had a bite tonight.
Not the kind that made you shiver, but the kind that seemed to scrape along your bones, pulling every buried memory out into the open. Selena stood at the edge of the palace courtyard, her hands curled into fists inside the folds of her plain servant's cloak. The moon hung low, fractured in the reflection of the palace's silver pond, like someone had dropped it and glued it back together.
That was how she felt.
A thing once whole. Broken. Pretending she was mended.
Behind her, the corridors hummed faintly with life. Voices of servants drifted through, soft and indistinct. Somewhere in the upper halls, music swelled from a feast she was not invited to, its notes thin and faraway, like they belonged to another world entirely.
She almost turned back inside. Almost.
But the sound of the water drew her closer.
