In a world where everything seems perfectly logical and pragmatic. The thought of anything existing outside of the realm of what one already knows seems impractical.
That is how Melinda Morrison sees life.
The very life where she has shared nearly e...
What separates a meal with family from one with enemies? Both share the same table, but the warmth or the tension defines the difference.
The rain fell in a steady rhythm, a soft pitter-patter against the roof of my Tempus Verge as it pulled to a stop outside Zorion's city house. Evening had settled over Klocsas, and the soft glow of streetlamps reflected on the wet cobblestones, giving the city a shimmering, melancholy ambiance.
As I stepped out, the grandeur of his estate struck me. The house, a beautifully maintained pale-blue stone structure with ivy crawling up the sides, exuded both charm and wealth. It was the kind of place you'd expect from someone of Zorion's station, though I knew enough about him to suspect the extravagance wasn't entirely his doing.
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"It seems Minister Zorion's estate is amongst the best-looking in the city," I murmured to myself, my parasol shielding me from the rain as I approached the grand double doors with my personal guards.
A butler greeted me the moment I arrived, his posture perfect and his demeanor cordial. "Your Grace, welcome to the estate. Please, allow me to assist." He took my cloak with practiced ease, folding it over his arm.
"Thank you. I trust the master of the house is ready to receive me?" I asked, stepping into the reception hall.
"The master will be with you shortly," The butler replied with a polite bow. "In the meantime, you're welcome to make yourself comfortable here."
I nodded, offering a small smile. "Of course."
As the butler disappeared, I allowed my gaze to wander. The reception hall was stunning—perhaps overly so. The polished wood floors gleamed under the warm light of a chandelier adorned with crystals that reflected a kaleidoscope of colors. The furniture was nothing short of opulent: ornately carved chairs with velvet upholstery, gilded tables topped with pristine white marble, and floral arrangements so meticulously arranged they might as well have been art.
I couldn't help but marvel—I was a woman with an expensive taste of course. These weren't just luxurious—they were items I'd seen in the most exclusive catalogs of upscale furniture shops. Pieces like these were notoriously difficult to source, even for someone of means.
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