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The Witch in the Woods: The Transmigration of Hazel-Anne Davis - Chapter 168: The First Move
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Chapter 167: Showing His Hand
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Chapter 169: The Mask Cracks
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Most of the court was either drunk or pretending not to be, sprawled across silken mats and embroidered pillows beneath a canopy of fluttering banners. The musicians played softly—strings and flutes that sounded like lullabies for fools. Someone was laughing. Someone else was weeping into a wine cup. And all of it felt too loud.
I sat at the edge of the firelight, a bowl of broth in my hands, watching steam curl upward in thin, ghostly lines.
My spoon didn’t move.
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