Lizabella It’s been six months since Donald's funeral, yet Damon and Damian insisted that a grand ball be in my honor, as a celebration of victory, peace, and rebirth. The words echoed in my mind like a mantra as I gazed at my reflection. The woman staring back at me looked stronger than I felt, crowned with a circlet of moonstones, the fabric of the gown shimmering like liquid starlight under the lantern glow. My body had healed from the brutal birth and the summoning of the Lunar Flame, yet the scars remained, both visible and hidden. Pearl’s tiny form rested in the cradle nearby, gurgling softly as her nurse fussed over her lace-trimmed blanket. “Six months,” I whispered to mys
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