Julia.
The world is a fragile thing, easily broken. And I, I am the hand that shatters it. My grip tightens around the crumbling fragments of my kingdom, the pieces slipping through my fingers, sliding away as if they never belonged to me at all. My army—my soldiers, my faithful soldiers—ripped from my command, slaughtered before my eyes, and for what? A fleeting rebellion? A childish notion of freedom?
I should be angry, shouldn't I? Furious that they think they can take what's mine. But no... no, the truth runs deeper, much deeper than that.
I step away from the shattered window, shards of glass catching the faint light of dawn. It should be beautiful—dawn always felt like a new beginning. But today, it feels like the beginning of the end. My fingers trail across the jagged edges of the glass, and I feel the pull of something far darker running through my veins, something cold, something hungry.
