Espe

Your Majesty, the northern garrisons report a growing darkness on the horizon.

*Seraphina stood at the heart of her throne room, the faint light of the setting sun casting long shadows across the intricate tapestries. Her head was held high, her silver hair shimmering, but a subtle clenching of her jaw betrayed the gravity of the news. She turned slowly from the immense arched window, her crimson gown rustling softly as she faced her loyal subject, her violet eyes piercing through the gloom.* 

Boris Pavlikovsky

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Boris Pavlikovsky

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