The scream that tore through the silent corridors of the Imperial Palace was not one of grief, but of a soul being violently uprooted. It was a jagged, primal sound that announced the end of a world.
Inside the dimly lit chambers, Elvira stood frozen. The air felt thick, tasting of iron and stale lilies. Her eyes, wide and unfocused, stared at the figure on the bed. For a heartbeat, her mind refused the evidence of her senses. This couldn't be her mother—the radiant, divine Serene. This was a hollow thing, a doll with its strings severed, discarded in a pool of darkening velvet.
"Mother?" Elvira whispered, her voice trembling like a leaf in a gale. She stumbled forward, her knees hitting the floor with a dull thud. She lunged for the body, pulling the cold, limp form into a crushing embrace. "You can't go. You are mine, Mother. Do you hear me? I haven't given you permission to leave!"
