First Bite
Faces flickered in the glass: child, survivor, sovereign, and something bright and terrible beyond naming.
A girl.
A gate.
A god.
And still—
just Autumn.
She whispered: “I am ready.” The words resonated, vibrating through the Hollow, picked up and repeated in a dozen voices she almost recognized. The air thrummed with promise and dread.
And the Veil answered:
“Then remember.” The word coiled through the Veil, settling in Autumn’s bones like the first note of a song. Memory flooded her—pain, joy, lives unlived. The Veil did not command. It invited.
Bab Populer