Livia stood at the edge of the corridor, cloaked in the deeper shadows, hidden from view by a heavy velvet curtain. Her fingers curled so tightly around the cool edge of the stone pillar that her knuckles ached, white against her pale skin.
She watched Lyra from her unseen vantage point, a scene that burned into her retinas: Lyra crouched beside a cluster of wide-eyed pups, her face animated, her hands moving expressively as she wove a captivating tale about a mythical wolf spirit, its adventures echoing through the hushed hall.
One of the smallest pups, no older than four, leaned trustingly against Lyra’s knee, his eyes wide with adoration. Another, a little girl with bright braids, handed Lyra a carefully braided ribbon for her hair, an offering of childish affection.
The seasoned
