Since arriving in this world, she had initially worn the formal clothes prepared for Sienna.
They were beautiful, but beauty often came at the expense of comfort.
The fitted lower garments, reminiscent of medieval European attire, restricted movement enough to make her feel as though she were trying to fight while wrapped in curtains.
Mirella had understood this and eventually allowed her to wear looser warrior-style clothing similar to Harold's.
Those garments were practical, comfortable, and far better suited to someone who might need to run, climb, or dodge a skeletal crocodile.
But now it was time to adopt a new identity.
Standing inside the hut, with the black robe folded in her hands, Sienna drew a slow breath.
The fabric felt heavy and cool.
Outside, the corn swayed.
The slaves studied.
Harold waited.
And before her lay not just a robe, but a role.
A black mage.
A woman hidden in shadows.
A mask woven from cloth and necessity.
