A Queen's Lonely Cry
Beneath the twin moons, their silver light poured softly over the garden at the back of the royal ballroom, falling softly upon the ground like a heavenward whisper.
And there, within that moonlight, a single figure stepped—glad, stately, but with an invisible weight that numbed her tread.
Queen Sona.
Her very presence had the ability to silence a room. She was dressed in an off-shoulder gown dyed in the rich color of midnight; its material embroidered with silver threads that sparkled like stars ensnared in fabric. The gown fit her elegant shape, fluttering softly as she moved, every movement a light ripple across quiet water.
Her hair—long, silver-white and wild—streamed behind her like a river of starlight, catching the moonlight in every movement. Under that moonlit gleam, her skin appeared almost otherworldly, as if she had been carved from the moonlight itself.
But it was her eyes that cried the loudest.
