Azael paced the inner chamber, the shadows swirling around her like an extension of her own will. The flickering candles cast distorted shapes against the walls, dancing like fleeting memories of a time she no longer cared to remember. She was used to control, to the perfection of her own power. She had molded this world to her liking, bent its very fabric into submission. Nothing, not even Liria, was beyond her reach.
But today , something had unsettled her.
She halted suddenly, fingers brushing her chin thoughtfully. A faint pulse of frustration buzzed through her mind, and she turned her gaze toward the floor where Liria still lay motionless, her form hunched in submission. The flickering embers of Liria's magic pulsed faintly beneath the surface, a small, defiant whisper against the grip Azael had carefully woven into her.
