"If that woman didn't leave that day… what would've happened to you?"
The question was a key, offered to a lock she had refused to acknowledge.
The room fell silent. Angela's sharp eyes darted between them, the political ramifications momentarily forgotten in the face of this personal archaeology. Eastiel and Arkai stood still, sensing a revelation more intimate and fundamental than any prophecy.
Cecilia's breath hitched. Her mind, so adept at strategizing about futures and pasts, was forced to turn inward, to that specific, pivotal moment.
What would have happened?
She wouldn't have been crowned. She would have remained simply Cecilia, the orphan from the small town clinic, the girl who was a little too observant, who saw the cracks in the world before she knew their names. She would have watched Ruby ascend, bathed in sanctity, and she would have thought, perhaps, that she was… free?
No.
She would not exist.
The system had answered that already.
