Lana
The air inside the Athellen noble house felt heavier than outside. Whether it was due to the scent of incense or the sheer number of people secretly hiding wicked intentions beneath their mourning clothes, I couldn't tell.
I walked slowly, head bowed, my ears and tail twitching subtly—reflexes from my concealment magic. This time, there was no stone or supporting artifact. I did it on my own. The orange fox tail trailed softly behind me, and the ears peeking from my hair were convincing enough to make anyone believe I was just an ordinary beastkin.
A servant.
No one looked at me too long. Everyone was too busy with their fake grief, murmuring about Mahara's death in tones that sounded more like political whispers than mourning prayers.
I served warm herbal tea to the guests seated in the main hall. My smile was faint, my voice sweetened to near subservience.
"Please, Sir," I said as I offered the tea.
I knew how to move among them. Unnoticed. Unassuming.
