Prologue: When Silk Drinks Blood
Adams did not mourn the dead.
It dressed them in silk, perfumed the air,
and pretended death was graceful.
Aurora Adams stood barefoot on cold marble as her mother's blood soaked into crimson fabric below the execution platform. The silk absorbed everything— terror, pain, betrayal — without protest.
That was it's purpose . To hide stains while remembering them forever.
The blade fell.!
The crowd exhaled.
And something inside Aurora hardened
Into a steel.
Blood, she learned that night, was never wasted.
It only waited.
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House vale had once commanded respect.
Now it inspired Hunger.
Aurora felt it everytime eyes lingered too long on her in the market , when nobles whispered behind gloves hands.
She was a relic of a fallen house,
wrapped in silk she could barely afford carrying a bloodline others wished to claim or extinguish.
She moved carefully— grace perfected by fear. Every step Was deliberate. Every word measured.
When the Imperial summons arrived, Sealed with the sigil of House Draven,
She did not scream.
She laughed.
A thin, brittle sound.
Draven was death dressed as nobility .
They said Lord Kyle Draven could end a life with the same ease as he poured wine.
They said he had never loved anyone, And that those who tried to love him, never survived
Aurora Folded the letter slowly.
"if you want my blood," she Whispered,
" you'll choke on it."
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