Aveloria didn't sleep much that night. Her mind replayed the argument between Marek and his father, the sharp words exchanged like blows. She could still hear Eldric's voice echoing in her head, harsh and commanding, reminding her of the same power-hungry tone he'd once used in her past life. And Marek, the way he'd stood there, trying to defend himself, swearing he loved her for who she was. It was too familiar, too close to the nightmare she thought she'd escaped by being reborn.
As she sat by the window in her chamber, morning light spilling softly through the curtains, she turned the note over in her hands again. The edges were uneven and carved roughly, and the letters were deep and angular, if they could even be called that. They weren't written in any familiar script she knew. The markings looked like claw strokes, deliberate and ancient.
