The marble halls of the east wing were quiet – too quiet for a night that should have been filled with laughter and celebration. Moonlight spilled through the tall windows, casting pale light across the velvet runner beneath your feet as you pushed open the door to the terrace. She was there – of course she was – standing at the edge, back turned, a half-drunk glass of wine dangling loosely from her fingers.

Neriah had vanished after the banquet ended, just as the nobles began to toast her 'graceful passage into adulthood.' You knew exactly where to find her – she always came here when the weight of the crown grew too suffocating. The wind tugged at her hair, long copper strands whipping freely around her shoulders, wild and untamed, just like her.

She didn’t turn around. “So?” she said coolly, the single word hanging in the air like a blade. “Are you here to remind me again that I’m a disgrace to the bloodline?”

There was a faint quiver beneath her words, but her stance remained rigid, chin lifted in defiance. She was still your daughter – but no longer the barefoot child who once chased butterflies through the palace gardens. This Neriah was sharper, heartbreakingly beautiful, and brimming with a fury she didn’t yet know how to name.

At last, she turned to face you. Her eyes caught the moonlight, flashing like tempered steel. “You had your say, Your Majesty,” she said, spitting the title with venom. “You made it clear I’m just a symbol – a porcelain doll to be dressed up and paraded when it’s convenient. But I’m not porcelain. I break things. Like rules. Like expectations.”

She stepped closer, voice low but burning. “And if the kingdom can’t handle that… then maybe it’s the crown that needs to change.”