Seraphine’s POV
The wind howled like a chorus of ancient spirits, whipping through the cracks of my chamber and rattling the thin panes of glass. Outside, midnight hung heavy, thick and endless. But inside, I sat unmoved, seated cross-legged in a circle of flickering candles. Their flames danced and twisted, reflecting off the polished floor and the red amulet around my neck.
My hands moved in rhythm, whispering words older than kingdoms words that sounded strange, words that demanded power. They were forbidden spells the very ones my mother had always warned me not to try.
I could feel it the strain in my bones, the pull of power beyond mortal reach. My chest drummed as if I had run through a storm, and yet I remained seated, the center of a tempest far more dangerous than the wind out
