The Silver-Crest Manor had become a mausoleum of quiet desperation. For Sienna, the days following Nyx’s "disappearance" were supposed to be the dawn of her ascension. She had the title, she had the gowns, and she had the man she had spent years coveting. Yet, as she paced the length of her opulent new suite, the gold in the room felt like lead.
She had what she wanted, but she didn't have the peace she had been promised.
Sienna stood before her vanity, checking her reflection. She looked every bit the Luna-in-waiting, her hair pinned with silver needles, her bodice tight enough to make her gasp. But beneath the exterior, she was fraying. The manor had changed. The servants whispered in the corners, eyes darting toward the rafters. There were rumors of a scent—the faint, cloying smell
