The golden light of the setting sun filtered through the delicate, silver-laced curtains of the Verdant Sanctuary, casting long, intricate shadows across the marble walls of Queen Daratrine's palace.The chamber, adorned with ancient elven artistry, was a place of healing and serenity—where only those of royal elven blood had ever been allowed to rest.
Near the ornately carved bed, Daratrine and Felaern stood in silence, watching the woman lying before them.
Angelina.
Her breathing had steadied, the unnatural stillness that had gripped her since her arrival now slowly fading. She had fought long and hard to remain hidden, to keep herself away from the entanglements of elven and human affairs alike.
Yet here she was, back within the heart of Autumnhold, in the presence of the last remnants of the Elder Elves.
Felaern exchanged a glance with his sister, his expression unreadable. "She will wake soon."
Daratrine did not respond, only observing Angelina's closed eyes.
