~Ciela
The Ardent mansion sat on a rise overlooking the city — a sprawl of white stone and black iron, its windows gleaming under the sun like watchful eyes. The main gates bore my family’s crest, two wings wrapped around a crown. Guards stood at every post, perfectly still.
Inside, the air was cool and perfumed faintly with lavender. The floors gleamed; the chandeliers caught and fractured light shone into hundreds of small, trembling reflections.
My room was on the second floor, overlooking the inner gardens. The kind of room people wrote songs about — high ceilings, soft blue drapes, a bed that looked untouched no matter how many nights I spent tossing in it. You’d think that much space would make it easier to breathe. It didn’t.
A knock came at the door — sharp, controlled.
I was
