The figure stepped from the red-sigilled doorway, draped in veils of starlight fabric that had moon like patterns.
Her hair flowed like river smoke, pale violet fading to dusk, and her eyes—her eyes were not mortal things.
Glassed-over. Pale silver. Spiraled. Seer-eyes.
House Ardeval.
Fang stepped back reflexively.
He hadn't heard her approach. Hadn't even felt a shift in the darkness that blanketed the chamber. And that alone was terrifying.
"Still haven't learned to check the edge of time for footsteps," she said, her voice a quiet lilt, too soft for a battlefield but too sharp for a dream.
"…Yvanna," Fang whispered, as if speaking the name would conjure up things best buried.
"You remember," she said, tilting her head. Her lips curled—not quite a smile. "I thought you would've forgotten me the moment you bound yourself to a corpse-throne."
"Your vision didn't exactly end with tea and flowers," Fang muttered, eyes scanning the room for tricks, traps—anything.
