The sun had not yet risen. Only a cold, watery light seeped through the slits of the tall windows, painting the room in a shade of ghostly gray. The scent of blood and burned sage still hung thick in the air, the lingering remains of childbirth and dark magic intertwined.
The chamber was silent except for the weak, uneven rhythm of breathing coming from the grand bed in the center. Curtains of sheer white draped around it, stirring faintly with each passing draft, their edges stained faintly crimson from the night's ordeal.
Liora lay motionless beneath them. Her body was frail, her skin almost translucent beneath the dim light. Sweat still clung to her temples, and her lips were colorless, trembling with each shallow breath. She blinked slowly, her lashes damp with tears she didn't remember shedding. Every breath hurt not from the labor itself, but from what came after.
