Elara should have run. Any sensible person would have. But she had been chosen, shaped, prepared for this moment across years of strange requests and midnight trials. Missax had not been training a servant. She had been crafting a vessel.
“Do this for me,” Missax repeated, taking Elara’s hand. Her skin was indeed cold—too cold. “Wear the ring. Speak the words I will teach you. And become the new Missax.” missax - do this for me
But in the corner of the room, the shadows seemed deeper. And from somewhere far above, in the east tower, she heard the faint, satisfied whisper of a woman’s voice. Elara should have run
She had opened it. She had not screamed. But she had seen the dried herbs hung upside down, the circle of salt on the floor, and the mirror covered in black cloth. And she had said nothing. Missax had not been training a servant
