The morning air was crisp and cool against Paola's skin as she sat quietly on the porch of Poca’s home. Her tail curled into her lap, soft and comforting, resting across her thigh while she held a steaming cup of coffee in one hand. The silence of dawn surrounded her, broken only by the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze and the distant hum of the waking farm. She hadn’t bothered with her cloak, not after the night they had. Poca had fallen asleep beside her, still in that state of peace that only the comfort of being home could bring. But Paola had woken up early, slipping out of bed with a quiet, careful grace to avoid disturbing her.
She took a deep breath, inhaling the rich scent of coffee, mixed with the earthy smells of the garden that stretched out before her. It was Poca’s blend, a mix of beans she had picked up on their travels and the delicate touch of vanilla Paola had introduced her to. Paola smiled at the memory—how excited Poca had been to show her where everything was in the house the night before. The warm hospitality, the little touches of care that made this place feel like a true sanctuary.
Her ears twitched slightly atop her head as she glanced up at the sky. The sun was just beginning to rise in the east, casting the world in hues of soft pink and gold. To the west, those ever-present Leviathan ribs towered over the horizon, their colossal white bones curving upward, arching high above the city of Valarian like ancient sentinels. They reminded her of the world she now called home, this strange, magical place filled with so many unexpected twists and turns. And yet, as foreign as it had once seemed, Udanara had become more familiar than she could have imagined.
Still, it was hard not to think about Ayla in moments like this. Paola’s heart gave a small, familiar tug as she thought about her girlfriend. Ayla, off with Lady Marcelline, attending to whatever business she had to handle in Valarian. Paola sipped her coffee, the warmth from the mug comforting against the cool air, but it didn’t quite reach the ache in her chest. Ayla wasn’t with her, and even though Paola understood the necessity of it, she couldn’t help but feel the absence like a small hollow inside her.
Her mind wandered back to last night, how everything had unfolded in such an unexpected way. After they’d arrived at the farm, things had taken a... liberating turn. Paola’s tail flicked in mild amusement as she recalled how Poca had, without hesitation, lost her clothing once she felt comfortable enough. It wasn’t shocking—Poca had explained it herself. This was her home, and she was free here, able to shed the burdens of her constructed form and exist as she was. Paola hadn’t expected it, though, the casualness of it, and especially not in front of Yasmin and Selene.
Her smile widened, and she took another sip of coffee. Yasmin had been utterly flustered by the sight—her amber eyes wide and her cheeks flushed a deep red. Paola chuckled softly, remembering the look on Yasmin’s face when Poca had confidently discarded her new clothes, her stitched-together frame fully exposed, but with no hesitation, no shame. It had been a powerful moment in its own right. And now, as Paola sat here on the porch, she could understand it. There was a sense of freedom that came with shedding layers, whether physical or emotional.
She wondered, in that quiet, still moment, if Ayla had felt the same way when Paola had been running around Udanara, practically naked for weeks. It had been a wild time, unbridled by the constraints of modesty or decorum. Paola smiled ruefully to herself, realizing that, perhaps, Ayla had been drawn to that raw freedom, to the way Paola lived without apology in those early days. She thought about the fire that had burned between them, how quickly they’d fallen into each other’s arms, driven by a kind of primal connection that defied explanation.
But now... now it was different. Ayla was not here, and Paola could feel that absence keenly, like a space between her ribs where something vital had once been.
Paola’s golden-flecked eyes drifted back to the garden, her gaze softening as she let her thoughts settle on the beauty around her. Poca’s farm was a place of life, growth, and peace. The rows of vibrant plants swayed gently in the breeze, the wildflowers in the distance adding bursts of color to the landscape. It was hard to believe that just a day ago, they had been caught up in the chaos of Valarian. Here, everything seemed simpler, more grounded.
Her foot stretched out in front of her, while her other knee was tucked up close, providing a resting place for her arm as she cradled the coffee. The warmth of the sun was just starting to touch the edges of the farm, casting long shadows across the land. Paola’s thoughts meandered back to the night they’d spent sharing stories. Selene, who had reentered their lives so unexpectedly, had explained her past with Poca—how she had met Poca long before Paola had, and how things between them had unraveled. The betrayal still lingered between them, though the night had allowed for some healing.
Yasmin had been fascinated, her curious nature lighting up as she absorbed every detail of their story, eager to know more about the complicated dynamics that had brought them all together. And then, when it was Yasmin’s turn to speak, the focus had shifted, and they had recounted their own adventure with her in Windmere. Paola smiled at the thought—how everything had felt so full of life and possibility back then, how their bond had grown stronger through shared trials and victories.
And now, here she was, sitting on the porch of this strange and wonderful place, wrapped in the quiet of the morning, sipping coffee, and thinking about the people she cared for most.
She wished Ayla could be here. She wished Ayla could see the peace that Paola felt, the calm that had settled over her in this moment. Valarian, with its towering spires and endless schemes, felt so far away, and yet it pulled at Paola’s mind. She worried for Ayla, worried about what Lady Marcelline might ask of her, worried about the toll it would take.
The porch creaked slightly, and Paola’s ears twitched at the familiar sound of soft footsteps approaching. She didn’t need to look up to know it was Poca. Somehow, without even trying, Poca always knew when Paola needed comfort. It was a gift of hers, that effortless ability to be present at just the right moment.
“Ma chère,” Poca’s voice was soft, still heavy with sleep as she stepped out onto the porch. Her mismatched eyes gleamed with the soft light of the morning, one violet, one green, as she glanced down at Paola with a gentle smile. “You are up early.”
Paola smiled, setting her coffee down beside her as Poca lowered herself onto the step beside her. Poca, as expected, had not bothered to get dressed. Her stitched-together frame caught the morning light, and Paola found it strangely beautiful, the way the seams of her body seemed to blend into the world around her, as if she were both a part of it and separate from it.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Paola admitted, leaning into Poca’s warmth. “Just... thinking.”
Poca hummed softly, her fingers brushing against Paola’s hand. “About Ayla, oui?”
Paola nodded, letting out a small sigh. “Yeah. I can’t help it. I just... I wish she was here.”
Poca’s smile was kind, her fingers curling around Paola’s in a gentle squeeze. “She will be back soon, ma chère. Ayla is strong. Whatever she is dealing with, she will return to us.”
Paola leaned her head against Poca’s shoulder, taking comfort in the quiet certainty of her words. It was something she loved about Poca—her ability to offer reassurance without needing to say much at all. There was a simplicity to it, a kind of wisdom that came from being so in tune with the world around her.
“I know,” Paola murmured. “It’s just... hard. I miss her.”
Poca nodded, her chin resting atop Paola’s head as they sat in silence for a moment, watching the sun continue its slow rise over the hills. The farm, with its sprawling garden and the gentle hum of magic that lingered in the air, felt like a sanctuary. It was a place where they could be themselves, where they could find moments of peace amid the chaos of their lives.
“I am glad you are here,” Poca said softly, her voice filled with warmth. “Both you and Ayla... you make me feel like I am not alone.”
Paola smiled, her heart swelling at Poca’s words. “You’re not alone, Poca. You have us. We’ll always be here for you.”
Poca chuckled softly, her mismatched eyes glinting with affection. “Oui, and I will always be here for you, ma chère. That is what family does, no?”
Paola felt a warmth spread through her chest at the word family. It was a word that had come to mean so much more to her since she had arrived in Udanara, since she had found Ayla, and now Poca. They were a strange, mismatched group, but they were family, and that was what mattered most.
The two of them sat together in the quiet, the sun's first light painting the horizon in soft amber and gold. Paola leaned into Poca's warmth, their hands still intertwined, fingers softly brushing. The world felt still, as if nothing beyond this porch mattered. The birds sang softly in the distance, and the farm stretched out before them, peaceful, serene.
But inside Paola, there was a storm of thoughts. She had been sitting with her feelings for so long now—her love for Ayla, this growing bond with Poca, and the way Yasmin had entered her life so unexpectedly. All of it felt like too much at times. She had always been someone who loved deeply, but this... this was different. It wasn’t just a simple infatuation or a fleeting connection. What she felt for Ayla, what she now realized she felt for Poca—it was real. Deep. Undeniable.
Her heart ached as she thought of Ayla, miles away, with Lady Marcelline. She missed her fiercely, the absence cutting into her like a blade. And yet, sitting here with Poca, Paola felt something different. A new kind of warmth, a different kind of love. The way Poca always seemed to understand her without needing words, how her presence was a balm to Paola’s restless soul. Paola had never thought it was possible to love two people at once, but here she was, tangled up in emotions she wasn’t sure she fully understood.
“Poca,” Paola said softly, her voice barely more than a whisper as she turned slightly to look at her. “Can I ask you something?”
Poca shifted beside her, her mismatched eyes—one violet, one green—blinking slowly as she turned her full attention to Paola. There was a tenderness in her gaze, the kind of quiet understanding that had always made Paola feel seen. “Of course, ma chère,” Poca replied, her voice gentle.
Paola hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around Poca’s hand. She wasn’t sure how to ask this, how to explain the confusion that had been swirling inside her for so long. “Do you think it’s possible to love more than one person?” she asked, her voice barely audible. “I mean... truly love them? Not just care for them, but... love them deeply.”
Poca’s lips curved into a soft smile, her gaze never leaving Paola’s. “Oui,” she said simply, her voice carrying a quiet certainty. “I believe love is not something zat can be contained. It is not limited, Paola. Love is like a garden—it can grow in many places, in many ways, all at once.”
Paola felt her heart clench at Poca’s words. It was as if Poca had plucked the very thought from her mind, articulated what she had been struggling with for so long. She glanced down at their intertwined hands, her thumb brushing over Poca’s stitched knuckles. “I love Ayla,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “I’ve loved her since the moment we met. She’s... everything to me.”
Poca nodded, her smile never faltering. “I know,” she said softly. “And she loves you.”
Paola swallowed, her throat tightening with emotion. “But I love you too,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. “And I don’t know what to do with that.”
The confession hung between them, delicate and fragile like the dawn itself. Paola’s heart raced as she waited for Poca to respond, her mind already second-guessing the words that had slipped out. But Poca didn’t pull away, didn’t falter. Instead, she smiled—soft, understanding, and full of a warmth that made Paola’s chest tighten.
“I know zat too,” Poca whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. “And I love you, Paola.”
Paola’s eyes widened slightly, her breath catching in her throat. The words hung in the air between them, and she realized, in that moment, how much she had been waiting to hear them. How much she had needed to know that this love wasn’t one-sided, that she wasn’t losing her mind by loving two people at once.
Poca reached up, her fingers gently brushing a strand of Paola’s hair behind her ear. “Love does not diminish, ma chère,” Poca murmured, her voice full of a quiet strength. “It grows. It makes us bigger, more whole.”
Paola’s heart pounded in her chest, the weight of Poca’s words settling into her. She had spent so long questioning herself, questioning if it was even possible to feel this way. But here, in this moment, with Poca’s hand gently cradling her cheek, it all made sense. She didn’t have to choose. She didn’t have to push one love away to make room for another.
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Without thinking, without hesitation, Paola leaned in, her lips brushing against Poca’s in a kiss that was soft, tender, and full of unspoken emotion. It was a kiss filled with all the things she hadn’t known how to say—her love, her fear, her uncertainty, and the overwhelming sense of peace that Poca brought to her chaotic world.
Poca responded instantly, her hand slipping from Paola’s cheek to the back of her neck, pulling her closer. The kiss deepened, and Paola felt herself melt into it, into the warmth of Poca’s embrace, into the certainty of her love. It was different from kissing Ayla—softer, slower, but no less intense. It was as if Poca was grounding her, reminding her that she didn’t have to carry this weight alone.
When they finally pulled apart, Paola’s forehead rested against Poca’s, their breaths mingling in the cool morning air. Paola’s heart was still racing, her mind still spinning with everything that had just happened, but there was a sense of clarity now, a sense of peace that had been absent before.
“I love you, Poca,” Paola whispered, the words coming easier now. “I love Ayla. I love both of you.”
Poca smiled, her eyes filled with a warmth that made Paola’s heart swell. “And we both love you,” Poca replied softly, her hand still cradling the back of Paola’s neck. “Zere is no need to choose, ma chère. You are loved, completely.”
Tears pricked at the corners of Paola’s eyes, but they weren’t from sadness. They were from relief. From the overwhelming sense of belonging that washed over her in that moment. She had spent so long questioning herself, questioning if it was possible to feel this way, to love this deeply. But now, sitting on the porch of Poca’s home, with the rising sun casting a golden glow over the farm, Paola realized that love wasn’t something to be contained or controlled. It was something to be embraced, in all its messy, beautiful forms.
She kissed Poca again, softer this time, lingering in the warmth of her lips, in the safety of her presence. And when they finally pulled apart, Paola rested her head on Poca’s shoulder, her fingers still intertwined with hers.
They sat like that for a while, wrapped in the quiet of the morning, watching the sun rise higher in the sky. Paola’s heart felt lighter than it had in days, the weight of her worries lifting with each passing moment. She still missed Ayla, still longed for her presence, but she knew now that she didn’t have to choose between the two loves that had come into her life. She could have them both, and they would love her in return.
As the morning light bathed them in warmth, Paola realized that this was what love truly felt like—free, expansive, and all-encompassing. It was something she didn’t have to question anymore.
She was home.
***
The moon hung high over the city of Valarian, casting long shadows across the courtyard as Ayla and Jester sat on the creaking wooden porch of his cottage. The night was cool, with a gentle breeze that rustled the leaves of the trees surrounding them. It was a peaceful setting, the kind of quiet solitude that Ayla had come to appreciate in her moments of reflection. She had come here to get away from the political machinations and tensions that always seemed to fill Lady Marcelline’s estate. But more than that, she had come to talk to Jester, to confide in someone who understood the weight she carried.
Jester leaned back in his hammock, one boot hanging over the side, and took another swig of rum from the bottle he had been nursing for the past hour. His large pirate hat tipped lazily over his face, but Ayla could see the glint of his eyes beneath it. He was clearly tipsy, his words slightly slurred, but his sharp mind was still intact.
“So, the great Ayla,” Jester said with a grin, his voice rolling with that familiar playful tone, “telling me all about her lady love and her noble adventures. And here I thought you only had eyes for the sword.”
Ayla chuckled softly, shaking her head. “That’s where you’re wrong, Jester. The sword is just a part of me. Paola... she’s something else entirely.”
Jester raised an eyebrow, pushing his hat back just enough to get a better look at her. “Oh, I’m sure she is. From the way you talk about her, sounds like she’s lit a fire in you. And you know me—I’ve always got a soft spot for a good love story.”
Ayla smiled, but there was something pensive in her expression. She had talked about Paola a lot tonight, and it felt good to let it out, to talk about the woman who had somehow captured her heart in the midst of chaos. But the conversation had shifted, as it always seemed to, to something deeper. Something darker.
Jester swirled the rum in his bottle, leaning back again. “But that’s not what’s really on your mind, is it?” His voice had lost some of its teasing edge, replaced with a quiet understanding.
Ayla sighed, running a hand through her hair. “No... it’s not. I’ve been thinking a lot about who I am, Jester. What I am. I’ve spent my whole life as a sword maiden. A warrior. It’s all I’ve ever known. And now, with Paola, with everything happening... I don’t know who I’m supposed to be anymore.”
Jester didn’t say anything at first, letting her words hang in the air. His eyes, though clouded by the haze of alcohol, were sharp as ever. “You’re more than just a sword maiden, Ayla. You’ve always been more than that. It’s just easier to fall into a role, isn’t it? Makes things simpler. But we both know life’s never simple.”
Ayla nodded, her mind drifting back to the years she had spent in service to Lady Marcelline, how her entire identity had been shaped by her role as a warrior, as someone who served a greater cause. But lately, she had begun to question all of it. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to continue down that path, to be bound by the weight of that title forever.
“What happens after the contract ends?” Ayla asked suddenly, her voice low. “What happens when I’m no longer bound to her?”
Jester’s expression shifted, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “After the contract ends?” he repeated slowly. “I... I didn’t think there was an end, love. Not for me, at least.”
Ayla turned to look at him, her brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
Jester sat up, his boots hitting the wooden porch with a soft thud. He took another long swig of rum before setting the bottle down beside him. “My contract... it doesn’t end,” he said quietly, his usual playful tone gone. “I’m stuck here, Ayla. Ever since I signed that damned piece of parchment, I’ve never been able to leave.”
Ayla stared at him, her heart sinking. She had never known that about Jester. In all the years she had known him, he had never mentioned anything about his contract being eternal. “You’re saying you’ve been trapped here this whole time?”
Jester nodded slowly, a grim smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Aye. Trapped. Lady Marcelline made sure of that. She’s... persuasive, you know. I don’t even remember the details all that well, but once I signed, that was it. I’ve been stuck here ever since, teaching, training her soldiers, playing the fool at her parties. It’s not a bad life, but it’s not freedom either.”
Ayla felt a chill run down her spine. She had known Lady Marcelline’s influence extended far, but this... this was something else. “I... I don’t understand. My contract... mine has a time limit. Ten years. I still have some time left, but once it’s over, I should be free.”
Jester gave her a long, searching look, his eyes narrowing. “Are you sure about that, Ayla?”
The question hung in the air like a weight. Ayla opened her mouth to respond but found herself hesitating. She had always assumed her contract would end after ten years. That had been the agreement, hadn’t it? But now, as Jester looked at her with that knowing gaze, doubt began to creep in.
“I... I remember signing it,” Ayla said slowly, her voice uncertain. “I remember the terms, but now... now I’m not so sure.”
Jester let out a low chuckle, though there was no humor in it. “That’s how she does it. She makes you believe you’ve got a choice, that you’ve got control. But in the end, she’s always one step ahead. She’s got a way of... influencing you. Making you see things her way.”
Ayla clenched her fists, frustration bubbling up inside her. “But I’m not like that. I’m stronger than that.”
Jester leaned forward, his gaze piercing despite the alcohol dulling his senses. “I’m not saying you’re weak, Ayla. But Lady Marcelline... she’s not like anyone else. She’s clever. And when it comes to contracts, to binding people to her service... well, she’s the best there is.”
Ayla sat in silence for a long moment, her thoughts racing. She had always trusted that her time under Lady Marcelline would end eventually, that she would be free to choose her own path. But now, she wasn’t so sure. Was there something she had missed? Had Lady Marcelline manipulated her in ways she hadn’t even realized?
“I regret signing mine,” Jester admitted, his voice quiet. “I didn’t realize what I was getting into. And now... well, now I’m stuck here. Don’t make the same mistake, Ayla.”
Ayla’s heart pounded in her chest, the weight of his words sinking in. She didn’t want to be trapped. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life in service to someone else. But could she really walk away when the time came? Or would she, like Jester, find herself bound to Lady Marcelline forever?
Jester must have sensed the turmoil in her, because he gave her a reassuring smile, though it was tinged with sadness. “You’ve still got time, Ayla. Don’t let her take it from you.”
Ayla nodded, her mind swirling with uncertainty. She finished the last of her drink and stood, brushing off her armor. “I think I need to get some rest,” she said quietly, glancing down at Jester. “Thanks for talking with me.”
Jester gave her a lopsided grin, tipping his hat in her direction. “Anytime, love. You know where to find me.”
With that, Ayla turned and made her way back toward the estate, her thoughts heavy with everything Jester had said. The cool night air did little to calm her racing mind as she walked through the gardens, her footsteps almost silent on the stone pathways.
As she reached the entrance to the grand estate, Ayla was startled to see Gwenore waiting for her just inside the doors. The head maid stood tall and imposing, her raven-black hair pulled back in its usual severe bun. Her piercing eyes locked onto Ayla as soon as she entered.
“Ayla,” Gwenore said, her voice clipped and formal. “The Lady would like a word.”
Ayla’s heart skipped a beat, her pulse quickening. “Now?”
Gwenore nodded curtly. “She’s waiting for you in the solar.”
Ayla swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. She hadn’t expected to be summoned so soon after returning to the estate, and after her conversation with Jester, the idea of facing Lady Marcelline filled her with unease.
“Alright,” Ayla said, trying to keep her voice steady. “Lead the way.”
Gwenore turned sharply on her heel and began walking down the long, marble corridors of the estate, her footsteps echoing in the quiet. Ayla followed close behind, her mind racing with possibilities. What could Lady Marcelline want with her at this hour? And more importantly, why now?
As they reached the solar, Gwenore stepped aside, gesturing for Ayla to enter. The doors were tall and made of rich mahogany, intricately carved with swirling patterns of vines and leaves. Ayla hesitated for a brief moment before pushing them open and stepping inside.
The solar was bathed in soft candlelight, casting flickering shadows across the polished stone floors. Ayla stepped inside, her heartbeat quickening as her eyes fell on Lady Marcelline. The woman stood tall and composed by the arched windows, draped in a flowing emerald gown that shimmered in the low light. Her silver hair cascaded down her back like molten moonlight, and her figure, illuminated by the faint glow of the city beyond, seemed almost ethereal.
For a long moment, Lady Marcelline didn’t speak. Her gaze was fixed on the city of Valarian sprawled out below, as if she were watching over her kingdom, a queen surveying her realm. The silence was suffocating, the tension in the room thick enough to choke on.
“Ayla,” Lady Marcelline finally said, her voice smooth and velvety as it cut through the quiet. She didn’t turn around, still focused on the world beyond the window. “Come here. Join me.”
Ayla hesitated for only a fraction of a second before stepping forward, the soft click of her boots against the stone floor the only sound in the room. The weight of the moment pressed down on her, and Jester’s words echoed in her mind—She’s always one step ahead. Still, Ayla crossed the room, stopping just short of where Lady Marcelline stood.
The Lady turned her head slightly, gesturing for Ayla to stand beside her at the window. “Look,” she said softly, almost as if they were sharing a private moment. “Valarian, under the night sky. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? So full of life.”
Ayla moved to the window, her eyes drawn to the towering spires of Valarian and the dimly lit streets winding like veins through the city. Airships floated lazily between the Leviathan ribs, and the glow of magic from the city’s upper tiers shimmered faintly in the distance. The sight was breathtaking, but there was an unease in Ayla’s chest that she couldn’t shake.
“Yes, my Lady,” Ayla said quietly, unsure of what else to say. “It is.”
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Lady Marcelline’s sharp gaze lingered on the city below, and Ayla couldn’t help but feel as though the Lady was watching something she couldn’t see, something just beneath the surface.
Then, with a subtle shift in her tone, Lady Marcelline finally spoke again. “Ayla, do you ever wonder about your place in this world? About the path you’ve walked and the path still ahead of you?”
Ayla felt her throat tighten. This is it, she thought, the moment Jester had warned her about. She could feel the threads of Lady Marcelline’s influence wrapping around her, the subtle weight of her words pulling her deeper into something she couldn’t quite grasp.
“I do,” Ayla replied carefully, her voice steady but guarded. “Lately, more than ever.”
Lady Marcelline smiled softly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I thought as much,” she murmured, finally turning to face Ayla fully. Her gaze was penetrating, as if she could see right through Ayla’s armor, down to the very core of who she was.
She gestured for Ayla to come closer, to stand right beside her, and Ayla found herself obeying without thinking. The Lady’s presence was magnetic, almost impossible to resist.
“You’ve been loyal to me for many years, Ayla,” Lady Marcelline continued, her voice calm and measured. “You’ve served me well. But there’s something more I sense in you. A fire. A potential that has yet to be fully realized.”
Ayla swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest. “What do you mean, my Lady?”
Lady Marcelline’s lips curved into a small, enigmatic smile. “The future is not always as clear as we would like it to be, but there are threads that I can see... threads of fate, of destiny. Yours is intertwined with something far greater than you realize.”
The words hung heavy in the air, and Ayla felt a chill run down her spine. She opened her mouth to speak, but Lady Marcelline raised a hand, silencing her before the words could come out.
“There is much to consider,” Lady Marcelline said, her tone shifting into something more deliberate, more dangerous. “Your contract, your loyalty... all of it has brought you to this moment. But the question remains, Ayla...”
She paused, stepping even closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper.
“Do you truly believe you will ever be free?”
Ayla’s breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. Lady Marcelline’s words wrapped around her like a noose, tightening with each heartbeat. The silence that followed was unbearable, thick with the weight of unspoken truths.
Lady Marcelline’s gaze never left her, piercing and cold. “When the time comes, you will understand. But until then...”
She trailed off, her smile widening just enough to unsettle Ayla.
“We have much to discuss, but it can wait for now. You should rest. Tomorrow, things will become clearer.”
Ayla wanted to ask more, to demand answers, but the weight of Lady Marcelline’s presence made it impossible to speak. Instead, she nodded, her chest tight with fear and uncertainty. As she turned to leave the room, her heart pounded louder in her ears.
“Ayla,” Lady Marcelline called out softly, just as Ayla reached the door.
Ayla paused, her hand resting on the handle. “Yes, my Lady?”
There was a long, agonizing silence before Lady Marcelline spoke again, her voice like velvet and steel.
“Don’t ever forget who holds the strings.”
Ayla’s breath hitched, her hand tightening on the door handle as her blood ran cold. Without another word, she opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, her mind spinning, the weight of Lady Marcelline’s cryptic words pressing down on her.
As the door closed behind her, Ayla realized she had never felt so trapped.
And somewhere deep within her, a dark, nagging doubt began to take root.
What if there was no escape?