I stood before the mirror in my chamber, my hand trembling as I reached for the mask that had been my shield for so long. Father Michael's words from yesterday echoed in my mind: "Some prisons are of our own making, Your Grace."
The porcelain felt cool against my fingertips as I lifted it away from my face. The scars along my cheek and jaw were still visible, but much less prominent than they once were. Alaric's specialized treatments and ointments had worked wonders over these months.
"Today," I whispered to my reflection. "Today I start living without this mask—at least within these walls."
My kitten, Morgana, purred and rubbed against my ankles, seemingly approving of my decision. I scooped her up, finding comfort in her warm weight against my chest.
"Let's start with Alistair," I told her, scratching behind her ears. "If I can face him, I can face anyone else in this household."
