Through the gilded corridors of the palace, the air grew brittle, shivering with an unnatural chill.
Olivia's heels struck the marble in a rhythmic cadence, only to be swallowed by a silence so thick it felt like a noose tightening around their necks.
The heavy oak doors groaned shut behind them with a definitive thud. Then—
The sharp crack of a palm against flesh shattered the stillness.
The force of the blow snapped Olivia's head to the side. A searing heat bloomed across her cheek, and her lower lip split under the pressure. The metallic tang of blood bloomed at the corner of her mouth.
Slowly, deliberately, she straightened her posture.
The smile that curved her lips was not born of pain, but of a sharp, jagged spite. "I expected nothing less from you, old woman," she remarked, her voice dripping with acid.
The Empress's hand arched back for a second strike, but this time, Olivia caught her wrist mid-air. Her grip was iron.
