The stroke of twelve announced the birth of a new day, but the expected dawn did not come with light to many. The darkness of the previous day still hovered in the air; their lives felt stuck and stagnant.
Within the Queen's quarters, a pitiful soul stood on the balcony, a cloak over her thin body, her slender fingers tightening on the railing. She watched the moon dance within hours, but calmness did not settle within her. From behind, footsteps echoed, and soon another figure joined her.
"How is it?" she demanded.
The figure blew air into the night and breathed heavily.
"Done."
"You have to make sure he is nowhere close to the vicinity or let the prince lay eyes on him. This wedding can't go wrong," she added.
The figure nodded and slowly walked away.
"If you can't be mine, you won't be anyone's," she hissed, still watching the moon.
