Bewitched
And at its center, framed by the open maw of a window, stood a woman.
She was outlined by the sun, her figure slim, her hair pulled back, her robes spilling like a pool of light around her. She did not move at first, only stood with her back to us, the crown on her head gleaming faintly. I knew it was not the true crown, yet even imitation commanded awe.
“Bow before the Queen!” one warden barked.
And so I bowed, though my breath caught. For when she turned, the sunlight fell across her face and revealed the sovereign of Larimar. Beautiful, severe, her eyes sharp as cut glass. She did not need to raise her voice to silence the air.
Bab Populer