[Meredith].
The moment I heard Draven say, "Alright. You can meet her," I was already on my feet.
The door opened slowly, carefully—as if Draven feared even the movement of air might shift his mother's mood.
And then, I saw her. Lady Oatrun.
The woman I had only heard about, imagined, and feared… yet the sight of her still struck something sharp through my chest.
The first thing I noticed was her beauty. Not the delicate beauty of someone pampered or protected.
No—hers was haunting, ageless, almost ethereal, the kind that made me understand, instantly, why Draven looked the way he did. Handsome.
Her hair was long and black, falling like silk down her back. Her skin was pale as moonlight—paler than mine and smooth, untouched by age or stress lines.
She looked young, too young, as if time itself had forgotten her.
But her eyes… those black eyes held a shimmer of something fractured, fragile. Something dangerous.
