EDINA POVI could barely see another soul in this place.It was too quiet—almost sacred in its stillness. A few steps down the corridor, the sound of my own footfalls against the polished marble felt like an intrusion. Every now and then, I caught a flicker of movement—pixies, tall and lithe with skin like deep midnight, wings transparent as glass. They moved silently, dusting ornate frames, trimming glowing vines, adjusting candle sconces with the precision of ritual.No more than three of them had appeared so far. In a house this large, it was unnerving.Valen’s palace had been teeming—ten people at every corner, always someone watching, whispering, judging. That place had been all light and echoing footsteps and the weight of court expectations.This?This felt like shadow and stone and the kind of quiet you could sink into and never come back out of.I turned another corner, pausing beneath a towering arch. The hallway was carved of pale, veined stone, smooth as silk, almost cryst
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