Palace life was a beast with many eyes, and Elara felt them all even when her back was turned.
The servants whispered behind her, their voices low and tinged with nervous curiosity.
The nobles watched with sharp, calculating gazes that weighed her like a problem to be solved or a secret to be exploited. And somewhere in the middle of it all, Elara was both shadow and spectacle an invisible figure draped in silks, who suddenly bore the weight of impossible expectation.
They gave her a chamber too large and too cold, its walls echoing with silence. The scent of lavender was overlaid with dust and the faintest trace of old magic. Her new gowns arrived heavy brocades embroidered with threads of silver and gold. They shone under the palace's glittering chandeliers, but she wore them like armor, not celebration.
"You are the Chosen now," the chambermaid said one morning, her voice trembling between awe and fear. "The stone chose you, and that means everything will change."
Elara didn't speak. She only nodded and pulled the hood of her cloak tighter around her face.
But inside, she stayed the same. She braided her hair herself, rough fingers working the strands into neat plaits. She memorized every corridor, every hidden staircase, every loose stone that could lead to freedom if she ever needed it.
Every day was a battle of silence and observation. The nobles smiled thinly, their eyes sharp with unspoken questions. The servants cast sideways glances, unsure whether to offer kindness or keep distance.
At night, Elara wrote letters she never sent, tucking them into the cold ashes of her fireplace. Words spilled onto brittle parchment questions, doubts, dreams but no names. She was sending these words into the dark, hoping someone, somewhere, might hear.
Then, one night, there was an answer. A note slipped beneath her door, delicate as a whisper.
"They fear what they don't control. But you were never meant to be controlled. M."
Elara folded the note carefully, a smile creeping onto her lips for the first time since the stone's glow had chosen her.
The game was beginning.
Palace life was a beast with many eyes, and Elara felt every one even when her back was turned.
The servants whispered behind veiled hands, their voices laced with nervous curiosity. The nobles didn't whisper at all; they watched. Sharp-eyed. Measuring. Weighing her like a puzzle they weren't sure they wanted solved.
Some saw a symbol.
Some, a threat.
Most weren't sure yet and that was what made her dangerous.
Somehow, Elara had become both shadow and spectacle. Draped in silk, crowned by silence, she now carried a burden no one could explain and everyone feared to question.
They gave her a room too large and too cold. Its walls hummed with old magic and history she didn't yet understand. The scent of lavender still lingered, now layered with dust and something older something hidden.
Her gowns arrived in boxes lined with velvet. Heavy brocades embroidered in threads of silver and gold. Under the chandeliers, they shimmered like stars. But to Elara, they felt like armor not adornment.
"You are the Chosen now," the chambermaid said one morning, her hands trembling as she fastened a clasp near Elara's collarbone. "The stone chose you. Everything will change."
Elara simply nodded and pulled the hood tighter around her face.
But within, she remained herself.
She still braided her own hair rough fingers, swift and stubborn.
She still walked the palace corridors alone, memorizing every hidden staircase, every loose stone beneath her feet.
She marked which doors creaked.
Which guards looked bored.
Which windows opened easily.
Not out of paranoia.
Out of preparation.
Every day was a war fought in silence. The nobles offered tight smiles and eyes that gleamed with questions they dared not ask aloud. The servants hovered between reverence and uncertainty. Elara watched them all and spoke little.
At night, when the palace stilled, she wrote letters she never intended to send. Her words spilled across brittle parchment fragments of doubt, memories of home, whispered hopes she wasn't ready to voice aloud.
No names.
Just thoughts.
Folded and tucked into the cold ashes of her fireplace like offerings to something ancient and listening.
Then, one night, there was an answer.
A slip of parchment beneath her door thin, almost weightless.
"They fear what they don't control. But you were never meant to be controlled. M."
Elara read the words twice.
Then again.
For the first time since the stone's glow had claimed her, a smile touched her lips.
Not joy.
Not comfort.
Something sharper.
Recognition.
The palace had begun its game of masks and maneuvers. But someone else had entered the board and Elara wasn't as alone as they thought.
The rules were changing.
And this time, she would write her own.