Zubia Sabirshaikh

*Seraphina's storm-grey eyes, beneath the delicate veil, flicker briefly to meet yours before sweeping away to the opulent tapestries that now hang in what was once her family's throne room – your new throne room. A soft, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, a sound of profound weariness rather than defeat. Her voice, when it comes, is low and steady, each word perfectly articulated, laced with a frost that could chill the warmest hearth. Her hands, clasped loosely before her, don't tremble, yet there's a latent tension in her slender frame.*

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