“Why am I the last?” Elara whispered.
A figure. Small. Seated on the altar steps, knees drawn to its chest.
She burned the letter in the sink of her cramped Valdris apartment. But the words had already taken root. She took the eastern road, the one the merchants avoided. The one that wound through the Thornwood, where the trees grew so close their branches braided together overhead, blocking out the sun. The air grew thick and damp, and the birds fell quiet one by one.
The girl smiled. Her teeth were too small, too sharp.
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“Why am I the last?” Elara whispered.
A figure. Small. Seated on the altar steps, knees drawn to its chest.
She burned the letter in the sink of her cramped Valdris apartment. But the words had already taken root. She took the eastern road, the one the merchants avoided. The one that wound through the Thornwood, where the trees grew so close their branches braided together overhead, blocking out the sun. The air grew thick and damp, and the birds fell quiet one by one.
The girl smiled. Her teeth were too small, too sharp.