"And you will not speak to me like I am your servant," the Wight growled, its body darkening, shadow curling into shapes behind it. "I was born in fire, carved from the ash of the first betrayal. You think I fear your council?"
"You should," came a new voice from the far end of the room.
It was soft, feminine and cruel.
She emerged from behind a veil of shadows, wearing silver rings on each bony finger, her eyes white and glowing like moons eclipsed. One of the Elders stepped aside instantly, lowering his hood in deference.
"Mother Wren," he whispered.
The Wight stilled.
Wren smiled. It was not a kind smile. "You've tasted their strength now. You've seen the girl Aria, the witch Lilith, and the boy Caden. And yet you fail to grasp what this means for us all."
"I grasp it fine," the Wight rasped.
"No," she whispered, circling the dais. "You do not. Or you would never have left her alive."
Silence fell.
