LOGIN*Bruno*The moment crystallized like a crack through glass before the door even finished settling on its hinges.A razor-sharp click of heels against marble. A blur of movement so swift it sliced the air—a whip of velvet, the striking gleam of gold rings against pale skin, a hand already rising as if it had been waiting for permission all night.Cold wind rushed past, carrying the bite of stale ashen fire pits gone to embers, the sputtering torchlight, and Lady Funda's perfume— a thick gagging cluster of overlayered scents that had burned a hole in some corner of his vulnerable memories. It swallowed him.Bruno’s body tried to move- do what it had been systematically trained for. A mechanical response caved into him by fourteen years of relentless abuses. Hands instinctively rising. Head angling down. Shield the face. Brace for impact constructed from learned helplessness.But this time, his mind was a heartbeat too slow.The slap landed with a sound that seemed to crack the very marb
It was late. Very late. Bruno didn’t need a clock to tell him—he felt the hour etched into the very bones of the palace. The air had transformed into something razor-thin and sharp, as past midnight had carved itself into the very atmosphere. Sound itself seemed reluctant, exhausted, the corridor holding its breath like the walls were living things that had witnessed too many secrets.The moment he slipped out of Ana’s chamber, the warmth was ripped from him.Most torches had surrendered to the night, burning down to fragile, trembling stubs. Those few flames that still clung to life did so weakly—more phantom than light, casting more shadow than comfort. No servants moved through this wing now, no hands to trim wicks or replenish oil. Ana’s corridor was forgotten, ignored, as if like before —save for just hours ago, when servants and nobles stalked marble in wake of a collapsed Empress. The only time it ever seemed to have changed in all his fourteen years.The door clicked shut beh
*Bruno*“Boy,” the voice came out softly. Almost too much so that for a moment Bruno didn’t even register that it was meant for him. No one spoke to him like that. In such a considerate or respectful manner. Not besides his own mom and Ana, that was. Words that weren't barbed and brutal, slurs and vulgarities towards him or Naska, that he'd learned to let slide past like snow falling on stone.So he didn’t answer.He remained rooted where he'd been planted for hours at the edge of Ana’s bed, shoulders squared in a posture that had long ago shed any remnant of childhood—angular, controlled, a shield built from survival. The chamber had quieted down now, stripped of the chaos that had stormed through it hours earlier— no more frantic servants tripping over themselves, no desperate clatter of medical implements, no arguing physicians whose voices scraped like broken glass.Only the fire spoke now.It chewed through seasoned wood with a steady, almost petulant rhythm, as if disappointe
*Mykhol*The heavy wooden door swung shut behind Mykhol with a muffled thud, sealing him into the familiar sanctuary of his private study. He didn’t bother to look about him as he entered–the room knew him the way a hound knew its master—by the scents of aged parchment, rich mahogany, and the faint metallic tang of blood-wine. Warm candlelight danced across the room, casting shifting shadows along the towering bookshelves and transforming the dark rug beneath his boots into a sea of muted patterns. Mykhol strode purposefully across the room, his steps sure and unhurried. Vermillion colored eyes focused straight ahead, he reached for the waiting decanter with a hand that knew every groove and ridge of the cut crystal. The soft clink of glass meeting glass punctuated the heavy silence, a refined sound at odds with the restless energy thrumming beneath his composed mask.As the blood-wine poured in a shimmering crimson ribbon, Mykhol watched the flickering firelight paint sinister glin
*Mykhol*Mykhol could have smiled fully—fangs bared like a wolf over a fresh kill. He could have laughed openly, throwing his head back, golden hoops ringing together like celebration bells as he dissolved into sheer glee. Why, he could have gloated to his heart's content—performed a thousand rehearsed victories from those long, sour years of exile, each one more elaborate than the last.But instead—He did something far more delicious.Mykhol lifted a hand.“Her Empress is being treated,” he said evenly, letting words fall slow and measured, like a blanket smoothed over a shivering body. "It was a simple faint. Too much fatigue."Relief rippled through the crowd in a visible wave—shoulders unknotting, lungs remembering how to expand. A few exhaled as if they'd been holding breath since the crown struck marble. Someone murmured thanks—to gods, saints, anything that would listen.Mykhol simply watched it all, satisfied by how easily a room could be guided with the right tone. Like her
*Mykhol*The room surged with urgency around Mykhol like a tide of incompetence trying to disguise itself as purpose.Servants collided in their desperation to appear useful—or at least avoid appearing useless. Thin-soled slippers skidded on polished marble with the squeal of leather on stone. A basin sloshed, hot water leaping its rim in trembling arcs that caught firelight like liquid amber before splattering. Someone's hip cracked against a side table—a curse bitten back behind fangs—nearly sending a porcelain pitcher to its death. Only caught at the last second with a sharp intake of breath that sounded more prayer for thanks then concern before being swallowed whole.And all the while, in midst of the ramblings, his vermillion gaze remained fixed on the three severe faces surrounding Ana's bed. He watched them as they murmured in rapid-fire consultation, their hushed voices threading through the room like anxious whispers."A cloth—no, cleaner than that. Fresh linen," Sir Eden,
*Queen Belinda* “Nicoli,” Belinda forced her smile to be extra warm. It had to be. It was the only thing that seemed to work on him nowadays.Otherwise, the boy was barely there.“Eat some.” She pushed the plate towards Nicoli.“It’s your favorite. I had it specially made for our tea time.”Nicoli glanc
“Your Empress?” I don’t mean to, but I cringe in response. Maddie has been at it ever since we’ve returned.And it doesn’t look like today will be any different.“It’s coming up another week.”“I said no.” I hold the book tighter. The words dance across my eyes as my vision blurs. But I suck back the t
(Edited & reviewed 7/1/24)*Ana*I can do this. I tell myself. Just keep your head up. Keep your face still.You are almost there. The carriage is just ahead. And then I won’t have to pretend. Just keep it in, and you’ll be fine.“Ana?” Maddie whispers. Her eyes were big and searching. “Ana, are you alr
(Revised & edited) 6.17.24) *Maddie*“Thank god I brought a blanket.” Maddie cheerfully stretched the blanket over them. She could immediately feel the heat change like a blessing. It was way too cold for anyone to be outside. But if Ana wants to go outside, Maddie wouldn’t complain, not at this poin







