Sophia sat still as marble, one hand resting beneath her chin, the other draped over the gilded armrest of the chair.
The room glowed with soft yellow light cast from braziers mounted on the walls, each flame fed by controlled streams of mana. It was meant to create warmth, comfort, and a sense of intimacy, but all she felt was stifled.
'Another day of this inhumanity. Shall the Council of Weather ever heed my pleas?'
Her gown shimmered like liquid silver in the firelight, woven with threads so fine they almost vanished when she shifted. The artisans would have been proud of their work, but Sophia did not care.
Clothes had become uniforms long ago, no matter how beautiful they were. She wore them to play her part, not to enjoy them.
"High Priestess Sophia, I must say again that my family's economic influence is unrivaled across the Western systems. Even Emperor Alexander himself has complimented them! With my hand in marriage, you will command it. Your name would—"
