the angels hidden blade

PROLOGUE

A blizzard raged against the ancient castle, the winds howling and screaming, a relentless chorus of nature's fury.

The landscape beyond was a desolate expanse of white, a frigid wasteland devoid of life.

Through the frosted windows of a castle, one can glimpse the stark, unforgiving beauty of the scene outside.

Watch in silent awe as the storms swallow everything, devouring it and claiming it as its own.

The trees surrounding the castle stand like sentinels in the bitter cold, their branches black and skeletal, reaching out towards the heavens as if pleading for warmth.

They will get none.

The howling wind, with its eerie, mournful cadence, dances through the ancient stone walls of the castle.

Its vengeful song drowned by the scream of a woman.

A scream of pain and fear.

In a dimly lit chamber hidden away from the beauty of the castle, the air thick with tension and the acrid scent of burning herbs.

A dark-haired woman, her face contorted in pain, lay on a bed of coarse linens, her knuckles white from gripping the aged wooden headboard.

A sweat-soaked cloth clung to her forehead, and the flickering candles that surrounded her cast eerie shadows across the room, their flames dancing as if possessed.

Dark, long curls hug her neck and face as she grits her jaw and cries in pain.

The room's sole attendant, a maid with hair wrapped in a pristine white cloth, stood at the edge of the bed.

Her pale blue eyes were wide with fear, reflecting the candlelight's eerie dance.

They both knew something was wrong. Very wrong.

She whispered words of encouragement, though they felt small and inadequate against the primal screams of the woman in labour.

"Push, Elara," the maid urged, her voice quivering.

"You're almost there. You can do this."

Elara's agony intensified, and her scream grew louder, matching the wild desperation in her eyes.

Sweat glistened on her forehead, her breaths ragged as she fought to bring her child into the world.

A mistake. A mistake. A mistake. A mistake.

The voice in her head kept crying as blood and sweat coated her body.

The candles' flames flared and flickered as if responding to the immense energy in the room as if sensing her thoughts and becoming enraged.

The maid reached out to steady Elara, her hands trembling as they offered what little solace they could.

The moment was fraught with danger, for they were not alone in the chamber.

Magic hung heavy in the air, and the forces of the unknown loomed nearby, ready to take advantage of the woman's vulnerability.

As the pain surged to its zenith, Elara's face contorted, and she released a final, guttural cry that pierced the room and drowned the sound of the blazing storm outside.

The candles, as if released from their ethereal grip, sputtered and died in unison, plunging the chamber into darkness.

In that blackness, the world held its breath.