LARISSA
The dream was jagged—fragments and flickers stitched together with shadows.
I was kneeling again, head bowed, wrists chained to the cold marble of my father's throne room. The scent of incense stung my nostrils, but it couldn’t mask the sting of humiliation.
“Disobedience will not be tolerated,” Father’s voice echoed, cold and precise.
The guards flanked me like statues, the court watched in silence, I tried to raise my head. I wanted to meet his eyes, to show him I wasn’t afraid, but the weight of his disappointment crushed me.
“You are not a princess. You are not a daughter. You are a lesson.”
The whip cracked, and pain bloomed across my back. Again and again. I couldn’t scream, not in front of them. So I bit my tongue until I tasted blood, until my body trembled and my v
