The hinges gave a soft squeak as the door opened.
Standing there was a woman in her late twenties, her presence filling the doorway like moonlight spilling into a darkened room. Her hair shimmered a pale shade of blue, cut just above her shoulders, and her eyes—clear, deep, and glacial—glowed with the authority of someone accustomed to command.
At her side stood Agne Moon, the red-haired girl from earlier, looking uncharacteristically subdued, her lips parted as if she wanted to speak but dared not.
Luciel straightened slightly.
"Your Excellency Luciel," the woman said with a graceful tilt of her head, "will you not invite me in?"
Her voice was calm, yet carried that dangerous kind of softness that often preceded storms.
Luciel smiled faintly and stepped aside. "Please, Moon Lord. You honor my door."
