The moon hung low over Silvermoon Palace that night, its pale glow bathing the marble halls in an eerie calm. The air was heavy, still, as if the wind itself refused to disturb the peace that had settled uneasily since Ravena and Kaelen returned from Moonspire. Mariseth sat by her window, a shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders, though her body burned with fever. Her lips trembled, and her once radiant eyes seemed dim, clouded with exhaustion and unspoken torment.She had fallen ill only a week after her daughter’s return. At first, she dismissed it as a simple chill — a reaction to the cold air or her sleepless nights — but the illness grew swiftly, like guilt taking root in her bones. Her skin turned pale, her steps faltered, and her once sharp voice had softened to a whisper.The servants whispered among themselves, exchanging worried glances each time they passed her chamber door. The lady of Silvermoon, once so commanding, so proud, was now a ghost of herself. Her beauty, wh
Last Updated : 2025-10-07 Read more