Lila
The newspapers arrived before I’d even dressed.
A servant had left them on the table in a neat stack, wrapped in a silk ribbon like they were something elegant—something meant to be savored with morning tea.
I stared at them from across the room, robe clutched loosely at my waist, feet bare on the cold stone. The light filtering through the windows was soft and golden, a lie painted across polished floors.
I’d been taught to face pain without flinching. So I pulled the ribbon loose and ready the first headline. ‘THE FALSE LUNA: Has the Crown Been Enchanted?’ The subheading below it read ‘From Packless to Palace’
I flipped through the others quickly. They bled the same venom, just printed in different fonts. One included a side-by-side rendering—me beside a charcoal sketch of N
