The Empress Dowager's chambers smelled of sandalwood.
Incense smoke curled through the air like restless spirits, casting dancing shadows across silk screens painted with phoenixes. The moon hung full and heavy outside the latticed windows, its light cold and silver.
She sat at her dressing table, her back straight despite her age, while her attendants removed the elaborate ornaments from her hair. Each jade pin, each golden phoenix, carefully placed in lacquered boxes lined with silk.
"Leave," she said softly.
The servants bowed and fled like startled birds.
The Empress Dowager remained still for a long moment, staring at her reflection in the bronze mirror. The face that looked back was still beautiful, in the way ancient scrolls were beautiful, worn, but commanding. Lines creased the corners of her eyes, but those eyes themselves remained sharp as winter frost.
Fifty-three years, she thought. Fifty-three years since they dragged me to this palace in chains of gold and silk.
