Lumina lay alone in her chambers, the soft glow of starlight filtering through the quartz walls doing nothing to chase away the shadows in her heart.
Tears streamed down her face in endless rivers, her body shaking with sobs that echoed the thunder rumbling outside.
Each crack of lightning illuminated the room in harsh flashes, making her flinch as though the storm itself judged her.
Her father's voice echoed loudly in her ears, relentless, accusing, from the nightmare that had just torn her from sleep.
Deep in her nightmare her father stood at the far end, his robes were plain white mourning silk, the same color the realm wore when burying its own. In his right hand burned a sword forged entirely of captured starlight long, slender, its edge so sharp it seemed to cut the air itself.
