"The chosen star is waking," Mistress Diana murmurs. As the sun set over the hills and the moon got ready to rise, someone had driven out to seek her fate and that of her kingdom.
The guards at the tower opened up immediately, and without waiting for an invitation, Queen Elena climbed down from her carriage and walked into Diana's tent. She was a regular, and the fog had no reason holding her back, so it parted ways, leading her through.
"My Queen," Diana murmured, sitting over the same stirring water from earlier. She looked pale, her lips chapped and her hands visibly trembling.
"What's wrong, Diana?" Queen Elena asked, but Mistress Diana could only smile bitterly. What was she to say—that she was trying hard to rewrite the prophecy, and now the blood it demanded turned out not to be another's but hers?
"Nothing, my Queen. Just a little exhausted," Diana lied.
