The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows across the worn walls of Zareena's chamber. She sat by the small window, staring out at the cold, dark forest that bordered the fortress. The distant howl of wolves echoed through the night, a reminder that danger lurked even in moments of quiet.
Her thoughts drifted back—unbidden, sharp as a blade—to a night long ago, in the very house she once called home.
She remembered the sound first: a sudden crash, breaking the silence. Her mother's soft gasp, followed by the sharp crack of a vase shattering against stone.
Footsteps—heavy and angry—echoed down the corridor.
Zareena had hidden beneath the grand staircase, heart pounding, breath shallow. She had heard her father's voice, low and bitter, accusing her mother of betrayal. The heated words spiraled into a scream, then silence.
The next morning, the household was cloaked in cold distance. Her mother was gone. No one spoke of what happened, but the chill in the air said it all.
Now, years later, in the solitude of her chamber, Zareena felt that old fear resurface—a reminder that power within noble walls came with shadows darker than any forest.
She clenched her fists. The past could no longer hold her. It was time to face the future.