Carina stood before her mirror, methodically brushing her hair with mechanical precision, each stroke a desperate attempt to maintain some semblance of control while her world crumbled around her.
One hundred strokes. That's what her mother had taught her before she died. One hundred strokes every night to keep her hair beautiful.
As if beauty mattered when her life was no longer her own.
The engagement ceremony three days ago haunted her like a specter. Standing beside Dorian in that silver gown, feeling the weight of hundreds of eyes upon her, knowing that Magnus was somewhere in that crowd watching her promise herself to another man.
She had searched for him despite herself, her traitorous eyes scanning the faces until she found him near the back, his jaw clenched and his hands fisted at his sides.
