Damned Traditions.Elara—I wake to lightning and fresh bread.The door is wide open. Violet dawn spills across moonflowers that weren’t there when I fell asleep. A woman stands in the doorway balancing a silver tray like she’s about to declare war with pastries.Tall, wild silver-black hair crackling, eyes like colliding galaxies, gown made of living stormclouds.“Good morning, my ferocious little star!” she sings. “I am Mireth, queen of this gloomy pile, and your new mother whether you like it or not. Eat before you faint and ruin my plans.”I sit up slowly. “You’re the queen?”“Guilty. Also part-time goddess of minor chaos. Sit. Eat. Tell me how you made moonflowers grow in a tomb.”She notices the bruises on my wrists.Lightning snaps across her knuckles.“Who chained you?” she asks, voice suddenly soft and deadly.“Everyone,” I answer.“Names,” she says. “I collect them for kindling.”I spill everything —throne room, blood ritual, my father’s new title, Seraphine’s engagement, t
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