YaraThorne
Β«π»πππ ππ, ππππππ π³πππ... πππ πππ πππππ πππππππ πππ π ππππ? πΆπ πππ πππ ππππ
π πππ πππ πππππππ ππ ππππ πππππ?Β»
SAINT. VESSEL. SACRIFICE.
To the people of Aethelgard, Elara is a living goddess of light. But to the priests who guard her, she is nothing more than a battery. A doll held together by secrets.
Every ritual to fortify the barrier against the Gloom leaves fresh, glowing cracks on her spine. She is breaking for a kingdom that worships her glory, but ignores her pain.
She thought she knew her fate. Until He arrived.
Tharion Arbmu. The Prince of the Fallen Night.
To her people, he is a monster. To Elara, he is a man who smells of rain and shadows, whose dark eyes see straight through her veil. He didn't come to Aethelgard to bow at her feet, he came to steal the sun's heart and burn the golden city to the ground.
Kidnapped and forced into the frozen, shimmering wilds of the Night, Elara must face a terrifying truth: the darkness she was taught to fear feels more like home than the light that was killing her.
In a war between Eternal Day and Eternal Night, the most dangerous place to be is in the arms of the enemy.
Will she continue to shatter for a world that enslaves her, or will she let the sun fall for a chance to be free?
π‘π¨π πππ§πππ¬π² π«π¨π¦ππ§ππ
***ππ¨π§πππ’π§π¬ ππ‘ππ¦ππ¬ π¨π π¬πππ«π’ππ’ππ