Distant, muffled murmurs scraped against her eardrums, though the words remained entirely incomprehensible, warped by the lingering fog of her mind. Slowly, agonizingly, Evangeline forced her eyelids open. A heavy, bone-deep exhaustion gnawed at her muscles. When the blurry shadows finally coalesced, she recognized the vaulted, familiar ceiling above her.
She was in her own bedchamber within the Imperial Palace.
"Silver...?" she whispered, her voice a dry, raspy thread.
As her vision cleared, she saw a curtain of long, shimmering hair cascading near her face. Her hand instinctively reached up to grasp it, expecting the familiar, coarse silver strands of her jester. But her fingers brushed against smooth, spun gold.
She blinked, focusing on the pair of anxious eyes staring down at her.
"Mother...?"
Rivina spoke, her voice thick with a raw, undisguised panic. "Are you alright? Don't move."
