Selena stood before the Endling Throne, three steps away from the seat that promised completion, from the chair that would transform her flame into ending-light, from the final position that had been prepared for her through every violation, every binding, every accumulated damage that had led her to this chamber carved from crystallized tears and patient waiting. The throne pulsed gently, inviting, acknowledging, certain that she would sit because sitting was inevitable, because completion was determined, because the pattern had brought her here and patterns completed themselves regardless of final resistance.
