Ophelia’s POVThe dream didn’t feel like a dream.It felt like memory.I stood in a stone hall lit by blue flame, the walls carved with moons and wolf sigils older than any crest I’d seen in Rafael’s court. There was blood on the steps, smoke in the rafters, and at the center of the throne roomA woman.Crowned in silver and wrapped in violet cloth, she stood with her back to me, holding a blade in one hand and a child in the other.She turned.And I knew her.Lysandra.My mother.Her eyes were like mine. Green, flecked with gold. Her skin darkened by firelight, lips bloodied, but face calm.“They fear the moon’s daughters,” she said, her voice echoing in my chest.“Because we do not kneel when they demand it.”“Because we carry fire, and they only know how to burn.”“You, my love… are the last.”I tried to move toward her.But flames tore through the chamber, and a shadow rose behind her a figure draped in black armor, wearing a broken crown.The Shadow King.He raised his hand.And
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