The air reeked of iron and betrayal. And the world was burning.
Smoke curled around the wooden stakes, thick and suffocating, as if the heavens themselves couldn't bear to watch what was about to unfold. High on the execution platform, lit by the amber light of burning sky, she stood, completely tattered, bruised, and barefoot. Her name was spat out like a curse from the lips of the crowd below.
Ayelet Raven Delroy. The Duke's daughter. The villainess of the Empire.
Clad in the shredded remnants of what was once a sapphire gown, Ayelet was barely more than a ghost of her famous former self. She was no longer the girl draped in velvet and malice, but a hollow-eyed woman bound by fate. She stood at the heart of the golden throne, her gown tattered and blood staining the once immaculate silver embroidery. The chandeloers above flickered with dying magic, casting cruel shadows accross the cracked marble floor.