Sixty Five
“We’re ready, my lady.” The servant’s voice was soft, almost reverent, but her hands trembled where they clasped together at her waist. Her eyes were red-rimmed, lashes clumped with tears she had clearly already shed, yet her back remained straight. She stood as if resolve alone were holding her upright. Zaria nodded once. Her gaze lifted to the sky, where the storm was finally beginning to break apart. The clouds thinned in places, torn open by streaks of violet and gold as the sun sank toward the horizon. Dusk crept in slowly, reluctant, as though the day itself hesitated to leave them alone with what remained. Almost dusk again. It felt cruel how often everything seemed to end at twilight. The wind shifted, carrying the sharp tang of salt from the sea and the heavier, suffocating s
- Writer
