Dawn crept in with pale light and the scent of ash. The aftermath looked worse in daylight. Lanterns lay shattered, glitter turned to mud, chairs splintered like bones across the trampled grass. Torn decorations flapped limply in the wind, silk streamers dyed with blood and smoke.
Warriors moved like ghosts through the wreckage. Some limped. Some carried bandages or tools. No one spoke unless necessary. The air was too thick with exhaustion.
Celeste stood in the center of the once-beautiful clearing, arms crossed over what remained of her dress. Her veil had long since vanished, and the moonsilver embroidery now looked like battle scars.
Lisa approached, her arm in a sling and her other hand balancing a half-burned tray of cake. “Want a bite of justice?” she asked, deadpan.
Celeste sno
