Alessia's breath fogged against the mirror as though the glass itself resisted her reflection.
Her hands trembled when her gaze lifted yet it was not the woman she knew staring back.
The reflection shimmered, then shifted. She saw herself… but not quite herself.
She was standing outside, not in her nightgown but draped in power.
A crimson cloak swept over her shoulders, and a black book rested against her palm as if it had been born from her blood.
The city bowed at her feet, streets lit with fire and reverence.
Two columns of light like soldiers carved from eternity stood at her sides.
Her voice, though she hadn't spoken, rolled over the city like thunder.
Every word was law. Every breath was worship.
Her heart pounded. Why am I outside when I am still here? Why do I feel her power coursing through me?
