The manor was stifling.
The air outside was far superior—the night breeze, cool and sharp, brushed against Selena’s flushed cheeks inch by inch. After the grueling rounds of social pleasantries, the heat radiated from her skin; this wind was a mercy.
She leaned her slender arms languidly against the balcony railing, her clear but unfocused eyes turned toward the black, moonless sky. She couldn't see the moon, yet she could sense a blurred, warm yellow orb hanging somewhere in the void. In that regard, she was no worse off than the sighted guests downstairs, who were too busy navigating the treacherous waters of vanity to spare a glance at the heavens.
Waiting for the poisoner was not a source of anxiety for her.
The manor was draped in greenery, every leaf and stem an extension of her
