The lights on the set of The Empress's Shadow burned hot, mimicking the stifling heat of an imperial summer. The crew moved in hushed silence, sensing that the air had shifted. It wasn't just a film set anymore; it was a coliseum, and the lions had been released.
Aria sat on the Dragon Throne, her black robes spread around her like a pool of ink. She wasn't looking at the camera. She was looking at her nails, currently painted a deep, oxblood red. She sat with a languid arrogance that made the throne look like it had been built specifically for her spine.
"Action!" Spielberg yelled, his voice cracking slightly with anticipation.
The scene began.
Bella, kneeling on the floor in her white robes, looked up. Her eyes were red—real tears this time, fueled by the humiliation of the morning.
"Consort Li," Bella recited, her voice trembling with righteous indignation. "You have the Emperor's favor, but you do not have his heart. Power built on fear is sand. It will wash away."
