Miriam hated life. Or at least, she did. It’s been a long time since she could claim to have lived, despite the fact she’s most certainly not quite dead.
Technically, she’s undead. A halfway house between the realms of both.
Even more technically, she was unliving. Because unlike many who had gone on to become vampires, she didn’t actually die first.
Rising from a coffin, arms crossed and hissing with steam?
Nope.
Breaking out of a grave, fist first as she powered through 6 feet of dirt?
More nope.
Miriam’s transition to vampirism was remarkably undramatic. She knew a guy who knew a guy, and after a few clandestine meetings in the back of a bar that a woman of her station had no right to be in, she found herself readily agreeing to everything on the brochure.
Immortality sounded amazing.
Very few things could harm her. Even fewer things could destroy her.
The sun was the obvious one. A stake to the heart as well. And also silver. And garlic. But not because that actually did anything to vampires. 500 years later and she found the pungency as unbearable now as she did back then.
But aside from all those things, she was pretty much invulnerable.
As a vampire, Miriam could do whatever she wanted.
She could fell kingdoms and break empires. She could sap the free will from those who stood against her, enslaving them as mindless puppets to do her bidding. She could break, burn and mangle any foe to rise above the ashes she sowed.
She could lay siege to the world.
To the heavens.
Instead, Miriam collected the greatest curated stockpile of romance titles the world had ever known.
She had more books buried beneath her pillow and inside her makeshift chimney than the famed towering bookshops of the Ducal Capital of Granholtz had on all their shelves.
Over the past five centuries of her unlife as a vampire, Miriam Estroux, formally and formerly a noblewoman of high stature, delighted in her ability to submerge herself in the growing romance market.
It never used to be this varied. Miriam fully expected she’d need to enslave a city from the shadows before long, if only to turn it into a dedicated writing workshop. Yet now romance was a market so wide that even with her prodigious reading speed, she struggled to keep up with every new release.
Especially since she had access to them all.
Indeed, this vampire did not sit idly in her comfortable little crypt.
Centuries of networking had given her a significant hold in the realm of advance releases. And Miriam Estroux, or the Pink Raven as she was known to her contacts in the book industry, worked hard to indulge in her passion.
Conquest? Subjugation? Bloodshed?
Why did Miriam care for these things? It seemed like a huge amount of bother.
Not to mention, she failed to see what there was to gain from inciting mass murder. Everybody she might kill could very well be the next author of A Court Lady’s Indiscretion. And the thought of that sort of loss sent sweat rolling down her face.
And as a vampire, she wasn’t sure she was supposed to do that.
In fact–
She wasn’t quite sure what she was supposed to do.
But even she knew it wasn’t supposed to involve lowering herself before a holy sister 500 years and change her younger. That was just embarrassing.
And it was also her reality.
“You really don’t need to bow,” said the sister, her gentle voice a mimicry of her heart as she stepped into Miriam’s new prison. “You might be an unholy abomination, but that doesn’t mean we’re not equal … to at least one deity, that is. Even the heavens have their share of eccentrics.”
Miriam straightened her back.
Her eyes still gazed downwards, though. Not out of deference. And not even because she was reading the open book she’d left on the dirty ground.
It was because it pained her unbeating heart to take in her new abode.
Gone were the smooth crypt walls painted in oranges and blues, the wooden bookshelves filled with colourful spines and the potted flowers she watered and grew, even though the tiny shafts of light she chiselled out for them were deadly to her.
Instead, she was surrounded by a yellow tent.
It wasn’t so bad … is what she told herself. After all, this was the same tent she used when she first started out in the world as a fresh-fanged vampire, seeking a corner of darkness to call her own. It was sentimental to her. The reason she painted her door the same colour.
But it wasn’t a home.
At least, not one she wanted to forcibly reside in.
With only a beanie bag to sit on and 514 volumes of contemporary romance books to sift through, this was a dire experience. She estimated she’d be finished reading in 2 years. And she wasn’t certain if the hag in front of her would permit her to fetch new books between whatever scheme was going on.
“Welcome to my new library,” said Miriam, sensing she was expected to fill the silence. “I hope the dampness doesn’t dissatisfy you.”
Her eyes took in the page number on the open book as she awaited the response.
She hadn’t had time to stuff in a bookmark when the sister came waltzing in again. A good thing, too. Page 157 was far too awkward a number to remember, especially as her eyes were busy blinking at the shocking development of Lady Wicked eloping with the sous chef.
Not even the head chef. The scandal was positively tantalising.
“Your concern is unwarranted. The dampness doesn’t concern me.”
Miriam looked up just in time to see Sister Rieze smiling as she checked the holy wards inscribed within her tent.
“Oh, okay. Because if it did, I was going to suggest you could leave. I suppose I can’t do that anymore.”
The sister’s back was turned as she examined the wards.
A terrible thing to do against a belligerent vampire in her own tent. But this young woman was more than a simple sister.
The golden bubble of light enveloping her was like a mirror of the sun itself.
Terrible to Miriam for many reasons, all of which had to do with how difficult it was to read while she was here.
“I’ve experienced worse,” said Sister Rieze, her hands glowing as she reinforced the spellwork. “You should see the cloister I slept in. Even with all the windows wide open, the dust and humidness never failed to vanish. But I suppose that’s Granholtz Cathedral for you.”
“I’m fairly certain even seeing the cathedral would burn my eyes.”
“I know. You should definitely see it.”
Sister Rieze smiled warmly as she turned around.
As she clapped her hands in satisfaction, the expression she wore was no different to meeting a long lost friend. In the darkness. Below the earth. In a crypt.
Yes, Miriam wasn’t the most well-adjusted member of society.
In fact, other than with her contacts in the publishing industry, she wasn’t really a part of society at all.
Even so, she was fairly certain–
That this sister wasn’t quite right in the head.
“I’ve finished checking the wards,” said the sister. “I actually left them with a vulnerability last time. I’m pleased you didn’t use the opportunity to escape.”
Miriam raised a brow.
Her escape was in her pages. A far safer retreat than anywhere she could flee to.
Although Miriam had no doubt she could traverse the vast distances of the world far swifter than any human could, she had even less doubt that this sister would haunt her shadowless steps until she was found again.
In all her years of unliving, she’d never encountered someone with such ardent control over holy magic.
No … not just holy magic.
Despite what the Holy Church would hope, it was a branch like any other.
This sister was special. Her spellcasting was phenomenal, devoid of excess movements or distractions of the mind.
She was a cleric, and an exceptionally high rank one, too. The sheer ease to which she held herself was breathtaking. She was an A-rank cleric at the minimum. And Miriam had no doubt she could have just as easily been a prodigal mage burning her with regular fire instead of holy fire.
An equally painful way to go. But all ways of being destroyed were.
A rare drawback to being functionally immortal.
There was no blinking into the next life for her. It was always immolation with a side of shrieking pain. And sizes only came in large.
“I don’t want to leave my books,” said Miriam with a shrug. “It took centuries to build this collection. The moment I go, some wandering adventurer will pick them up and immediately discard them for not being magical tomes they can sell off at a fraction of their price.”
The sister beamed.
“Great! Because I’m not just here to see if you’re ash yet. Although that really wouldn’t be a problem if you were. But since you’re hale and hearty, and I’m not saying that’s a good thing, you may be of service to me once again.”
“I see. Will my service help me on my long escape from the road of damnation?”
“No. You’re lost to the light. Only oblivion awaits your soul. But you may still help me, regardless.”
Miriam chewed her lip.
A defiant response which immediately drew holy magic blazing in the sister’s hands.
“Fine, fine, fine. You’re already a blot of sunshine. You don’t need to make more blots. How may I be of assistance today?”
The golden light dissipated from the sister’s hands. Still, it remained as a visible shield around her figure.
It really wasn’t necessary, of course.
Miriam had taken a bite from her already. She was still washing her mouth out with diseased water.
“The same as always. The town upstairs needs a little refresher. The ambience is starting to fade.”
Miriam sighed.
She was ruin incarnate. An unholy avatar of malice. A fiend feared by demons.
And so, she raised her hands–
“[Conjure Fog].”
And began casting a spell F-rank mages could readily conjure.
Miriam wore a look of dejection as a healthy stream of mist began spewing from her fingertips, out past the warded yellow flap and up through the tunnels to escape into the town above.
To be a vampire captive to a sister was ignominious enough. But to be her personal fog dispenser was so humiliating she contemplated oblivion instead.
… After she’d finished A Court Lady’s Indiscretion, Vol. V first, of course.
Her eyes flickered towards the sister. Eventually, the holy woman nodded, shooing some of the fog into the corridor with her own hands.
“Thank you. With that, you’ve met your quota of holy acts for today.”
“I can’t tell if that’s sarcasm or not.”
“No, it’s heartfelt gratitude. Being a depraved creature deserving of instant atonement by the sun doesn’t preclude you from my sincerity.”
“Well, I suppose I wouldn’t be a depraved creature if I wasn’t at least slightly curious as to why I’m not being atoned right now.”
The sister looked delighted at the query. Miriam regretted asking at once.
“Why, it’s so that your horrific presence might serve the cause of good.”
“Oh, wonderful. And how am I doing so far?”
“Amicably. I won’t destroy you yet.”
Miriam raised a brow.
She also discreetly turned a page with her foot.
“I feel that holy sisters shouldn’t be using vampires for good causes. It’s really not what we’re designed for.”
“Oh, goodness, I know. Which is why you’ll be vanquished in due course. But until then, your existence is useful. Though it’s too late to help yourself, your overwhelmingly evil presence is a reminder of the darkness. And of the light which can still be sought.”
“Words as vague as the fog I conjure. I am utterly clueless as to the purpose of this charade, but I wonder if the Holy Church sanctions your actions?”
Miriam thought that would make the sister pause, if only for a moment.
It didn’t.
Her smile never faltered. Neither did her steps as she swept through the yellow flap.
“The Holy Church? No. But the heavens do.”
And with that, she departed, the shimmering light of her barrier trailing behind her as she politely closed the flap.
Miriam sighed.
Then, she returned to her book, scooping it from the floor.
In 500 years, her opinion of the Holy Church had barely shifted, matching the rigid dullness of the institution. It had changed in one afternoon.
She decided she preferred it when a sermon and the occasional stake was the worst she could expect from them. It was certainly less painful than whatever scheme this sister was undertaking.
Miriam returned to her beanie bag, sitting down to finish her book.
And then she blinked.
“Hmm?”
A cup of tea was perched atop a pile of books.
How odd.
Also unsafe. But still, more odd.
For a moment, Miriam could only look puzzled at the appearance of such a curious little item. Especially as it was filled with a delicate, amber liquid.
Her vampiric senses took in the fragrance.
Golden rooibos. Her favourite. Once.
The moment she’d turned into a vampire, her sense of taste had more or less been swept to the wayside. Things which were bitter were sweet, and things which were sweet were sour. She never actually found out what tea tasted like, though.
The idea that it was now undrinkable to her had ironically made her cease drinking the beverage to avoid finding out.
After a moment, Miriam shrugged, then reached out and took a sip.
She was already unliving. What’s the worst that could happen? Return to life?
At once, a warmth which shouldn’t exist coursed through her body. Not only because she could drink it, and it was mercifully delicious, but because it rekindled a faint memory.
Few could make tea as suited to her tastes as this.
Miriam gave a single nod, then perched the tea cup precariously atop her nearest stack of books. As she proceeded to leaf through her pages, she wondered where that maid had been all this time.
It was a relief to know she was still around. Even if she really shouldn’t be.
A small light in the darkness.
A problem. Because Miriam’s predicament was a much bigger light. And unless someone came along who could smother it, then she was pretty much stuffed.
And so … stuffed she was.
Miriam was a vampire. And the cleric was a sister of the Holy Church.
She’d read enough stories to know who the victor was in these contests.
Dejected, Miriam flipped a page in her book. One amongst many she would never star in, other than as the villain of foul deeds and calamities. And for once, she wondered whether it was worth becoming a vampire, after all.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
Miriam glanced up.
Despite the pickaxes striking at stone nearby, it wasn’t the repetitiveness of the noise which caused her the most distraction. She’d long become accustomed to the tinkering of the locals breaking apart the soil.
Instead, it was the thing above her, watching and waiting.
And though it was hidden from her eyes, it wasn’t hidden from her nature. Its very presence burned like a miniature sun.
Miriam clasped her book shut.
A note of wistfulness left her lips, each becoming less rare than the next.
She had never dreamed of being a princess in a tower. But as she looked around her tent, empty of warmth and comforts, she wished for one night she could be.
And if she couldn’t have that, well.
She at least wished she could read in peace.
kayenano
Ohoho! Thank you so much for reading!
Join my Patreon to read 20+ chapters ahead!
And don't forget to check out the Discord for fun and pictures!
Miriam hated life. Or at least, she did. It’s been a long time since she could claim to have lived, despite the fact she’s most certainly not quite dead.
Technically, she’s undead. A halfway house between the realms of both.
Even more technically, she was unliving. Because unlike many who had gone on to become vampires, she didn’t actually die first.
Rising from a coffin, arms crossed and hissing with steam?
Nope.
Breaking out of a grave, fist first as she powered through 6 feet of dirt?
More nope.
Miriam’s transition to vampirism was remarkably undramatic. She knew a guy who knew a guy, and after a few clandestine meetings in the back of a bar that a woman of her station had no right to be in, she found herself readily agreeing to everything on the brochure.
Immortality sounded amazing.
Very few things could harm her. Even fewer things could destroy her.
The sun was the obvious one. A stake to the heart as well. And also silver. And garlic. But not because that actually did anything to vampires. 500 years later and she found the pungency as unbearable now as she did back then.
But aside from all those things, she was pretty much invulnerable.
As a vampire, Miriam could do whatever she wanted.
She could fell kingdoms and break empires. She could sap the free will from those who stood against her, enslaving them as mindless puppets to do her bidding. She could break, burn and mangle any foe to rise above the ashes she sowed.
She could lay siege to the world.
To the heavens.
Instead, Miriam collected the greatest curated stockpile of romance titles the world had ever known.
She had more books buried beneath her pillow and inside her makeshift chimney than the famed towering bookshops of the Ducal Capital of Granholtz had on all their shelves.
Over the past five centuries of her unlife as a vampire, Miriam Estroux, formally and formerly a noblewoman of high stature, delighted in her ability to submerge herself in the growing romance market.
It never used to be this varied. Miriam fully expected she’d need to enslave a city from the shadows before long, if only to turn it into a dedicated writing workshop. Yet now romance was a market so wide that even with her prodigious reading speed, she struggled to keep up with every new release.
Especially since she had access to them all.
Indeed, this vampire did not sit idly in her comfortable little crypt.
Centuries of networking had given her a significant hold in the realm of advance releases. And Miriam Estroux, or the Pink Raven as she was known to her contacts in the book industry, worked hard to indulge in her passion.
Conquest? Subjugation? Bloodshed?
Why did Miriam care for these things? It seemed like a huge amount of bother.
Not to mention, she failed to see what there was to gain from inciting mass murder. Everybody she might kill could very well be the next author of A Court Lady’s Indiscretion. And the thought of that sort of loss sent sweat rolling down her face.
And as a vampire, she wasn’t sure she was supposed to do that.
In fact–
She wasn’t quite sure what she was supposed to do.
But even she knew it wasn’t supposed to involve lowering herself before a holy sister 500 years and change her younger. That was just embarrassing.
And it was also her reality.
“You really don’t need to bow,” said the sister, her gentle voice a mimicry of her heart as she stepped into Miriam’s new prison. “You might be an unholy abomination, but that doesn’t mean we’re not equal … to at least one deity, that is. Even the heavens have their share of eccentrics.”
Miriam straightened her back.
Her eyes still gazed downwards, though. Not out of deference. And not even because she was reading the open book she’d left on the dirty ground.
It was because it pained her unbeating heart to take in her new abode.
Gone were the smooth crypt walls painted in oranges and blues, the wooden bookshelves filled with colourful spines and the potted flowers she watered and grew, even though the tiny shafts of light she chiselled out for them were deadly to her.
Instead, she was surrounded by a yellow tent.
It wasn’t so bad … is what she told herself. After all, this was the same tent she used when she first started out in the world as a fresh-fanged vampire, seeking a corner of darkness to call her own. It was sentimental to her. The reason she painted her door the same colour.
But it wasn’t a home.
At least, not one she wanted to forcibly reside in.
With only a beanie bag to sit on and 514 volumes of contemporary romance books to sift through, this was a dire experience. She estimated she’d be finished reading in 2 years. And she wasn’t certain if the hag in front of her would permit her to fetch new books between whatever scheme was going on.
“Welcome to my new library,” said Miriam, sensing she was expected to fill the silence. “I hope the dampness doesn’t dissatisfy you.”
Her eyes took in the page number on the open book as she awaited the response.
She hadn’t had time to stuff in a bookmark when the sister came waltzing in again. A good thing, too. Page 157 was far too awkward a number to remember, especially as her eyes were busy blinking at the shocking development of Lady Wicked eloping with the sous chef.
Not even the head chef. The scandal was positively tantalising.
“Your concern is unwarranted. The dampness doesn’t concern me.”
Miriam looked up just in time to see Sister Rieze smiling as she checked the holy wards inscribed within her tent.
“Oh, okay. Because if it did, I was going to suggest you could leave. I suppose I can’t do that anymore.”
The sister’s back was turned as she examined the wards.
A terrible thing to do against a belligerent vampire in her own tent. But this young woman was more than a simple sister.
The golden bubble of light enveloping her was like a mirror of the sun itself.
Terrible to Miriam for many reasons, all of which had to do with how difficult it was to read while she was here.
“I’ve experienced worse,” said Sister Rieze, her hands glowing as she reinforced the spellwork. “You should see the cloister I slept in. Even with all the windows wide open, the dust and humidness never failed to vanish. But I suppose that’s Granholtz Cathedral for you.”
“I’m fairly certain even seeing the cathedral would burn my eyes.”
“I know. You should definitely see it.”
Sister Rieze smiled warmly as she turned around.
As she clapped her hands in satisfaction, the expression she wore was no different to meeting a long lost friend. In the darkness. Below the earth. In a crypt.
Yes, Miriam wasn’t the most well-adjusted member of society.
In fact, other than with her contacts in the publishing industry, she wasn’t really a part of society at all.
Even so, she was fairly certain–
That this sister wasn’t quite right in the head.
“I’ve finished checking the wards,” said the sister. “I actually left them with a vulnerability last time. I’m pleased you didn’t use the opportunity to escape.”
Miriam raised a brow.
Her escape was in her pages. A far safer retreat than anywhere she could flee to.
Although Miriam had no doubt she could traverse the vast distances of the world far swifter than any human could, she had even less doubt that this sister would haunt her shadowless steps until she was found again.
In all her years of unliving, she’d never encountered someone with such ardent control over holy magic.
No … not just holy magic.
Despite what the Holy Church would hope, it was a branch like any other.
This sister was special. Her spellcasting was phenomenal, devoid of excess movements or distractions of the mind.
She was a cleric, and an exceptionally high rank one, too. The sheer ease to which she held herself was breathtaking. She was an A-rank cleric at the minimum. And Miriam had no doubt she could have just as easily been a prodigal mage burning her with regular fire instead of holy fire.
An equally painful way to go. But all ways of being destroyed were.
A rare drawback to being functionally immortal.
There was no blinking into the next life for her. It was always immolation with a side of shrieking pain. And sizes only came in large.
“I don’t want to leave my books,” said Miriam with a shrug. “It took centuries to build this collection. The moment I go, some wandering adventurer will pick them up and immediately discard them for not being magical tomes they can sell off at a fraction of their price.”
The sister beamed.
“Great! Because I’m not just here to see if you’re ash yet. Although that really wouldn’t be a problem if you were. But since you’re hale and hearty, and I’m not saying that’s a good thing, you may be of service to me once again.”
“I see. Will my service help me on my long escape from the road of damnation?”
“No. You’re lost to the light. Only oblivion awaits your soul. But you may still help me, regardless.”
Miriam chewed her lip.
A defiant response which immediately drew holy magic blazing in the sister’s hands.
“Fine, fine, fine. You’re already a blot of sunshine. You don’t need to make more blots. How may I be of assistance today?”
The golden light dissipated from the sister’s hands. Still, it remained as a visible shield around her figure.
It really wasn’t necessary, of course.
Miriam had taken a bite from her already. She was still washing her mouth out with diseased water.
“The same as always. The town upstairs needs a little refresher. The ambience is starting to fade.”
Miriam sighed.
She was ruin incarnate. An unholy avatar of malice. A fiend feared by demons.
And so, she raised her hands–
“[Conjure Fog].”
And began casting a spell F-rank mages could readily conjure.
Miriam wore a look of dejection as a healthy stream of mist began spewing from her fingertips, out past the warded yellow flap and up through the tunnels to escape into the town above.
To be a vampire captive to a sister was ignominious enough. But to be her personal fog dispenser was so humiliating she contemplated oblivion instead.
… After she’d finished A Court Lady’s Indiscretion, Vol. V first, of course.
Her eyes flickered towards the sister. Eventually, the holy woman nodded, shooing some of the fog into the corridor with her own hands.
“Thank you. With that, you’ve met your quota of holy acts for today.”
“I can’t tell if that’s sarcasm or not.”
“No, it’s heartfelt gratitude. Being a depraved creature deserving of instant atonement by the sun doesn’t preclude you from my sincerity.”
“Well, I suppose I wouldn’t be a depraved creature if I wasn’t at least slightly curious as to why I’m not being atoned right now.”
The sister looked delighted at the query. Miriam regretted asking at once.
“Why, it’s so that your horrific presence might serve the cause of good.”
“Oh, wonderful. And how am I doing so far?”
“Amicably. I won’t destroy you yet.”
Miriam raised a brow.
She also discreetly turned a page with her foot.
“I feel that holy sisters shouldn’t be using vampires for good causes. It’s really not what we’re designed for.”
“Oh, goodness, I know. Which is why you’ll be vanquished in due course. But until then, your existence is useful. Though it’s too late to help yourself, your overwhelmingly evil presence is a reminder of the darkness. And of the light which can still be sought.”
“Words as vague as the fog I conjure. I am utterly clueless as to the purpose of this charade, but I wonder if the Holy Church sanctions your actions?”
Miriam thought that would make the sister pause, if only for a moment.
It didn’t.
Her smile never faltered. Neither did her steps as she swept through the yellow flap.
“The Holy Church? No. But the heavens do.”
And with that, she departed, the shimmering light of her barrier trailing behind her as she politely closed the flap.
Miriam sighed.
Then, she returned to her book, scooping it from the floor.
In 500 years, her opinion of the Holy Church had barely shifted, matching the rigid dullness of the institution. It had changed in one afternoon.
She decided she preferred it when a sermon and the occasional stake was the worst she could expect from them. It was certainly less painful than whatever scheme this sister was undertaking.
Miriam returned to her beanie bag, sitting down to finish her book.
And then she blinked.
“Hmm?”
A cup of tea was perched atop a pile of books.
How odd.
Also unsafe. But still, more odd.
For a moment, Miriam could only look puzzled at the appearance of such a curious little item. Especially as it was filled with a delicate, amber liquid.
Her vampiric senses took in the fragrance.
Golden rooibos. Her favourite. Once.
The moment she’d turned into a vampire, her sense of taste had more or less been swept to the wayside. Things which were bitter were sweet, and things which were sweet were sour. She never actually found out what tea tasted like, though.
The idea that it was now undrinkable to her had ironically made her cease drinking the beverage to avoid finding out.
After a moment, Miriam shrugged, then reached out and took a sip.
She was already unliving. What’s the worst that could happen? Return to life?
At once, a warmth which shouldn’t exist coursed through her body. Not only because she could drink it, and it was mercifully delicious, but because it rekindled a faint memory.
Few could make tea as suited to her tastes as this.
Miriam gave a single nod, then perched the tea cup precariously atop her nearest stack of books. As she proceeded to leaf through her pages, she wondered where that maid had been all this time.
It was a relief to know she was still around. Even if she really shouldn’t be.
A small light in the darkness.
A problem. Because Miriam’s predicament was a much bigger light. And unless someone came along who could smother it, then she was pretty much stuffed.
And so … stuffed she was.
Miriam was a vampire. And the cleric was a sister of the Holy Church.
She’d read enough stories to know who the victor was in these contests.
Dejected, Miriam flipped a page in her book. One amongst many she would never star in, other than as the villain of foul deeds and calamities. And for once, she wondered whether it was worth becoming a vampire, after all.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
Miriam glanced up.
Despite the pickaxes striking at stone nearby, it wasn’t the repetitiveness of the noise which caused her the most distraction. She’d long become accustomed to the tinkering of the locals breaking apart the soil.
Instead, it was the thing above her, watching and waiting.
And though it was hidden from her eyes, it wasn’t hidden from her nature. Its very presence burned like a miniature sun.
Miriam clasped her book shut.
A note of wistfulness left her lips, each becoming less rare than the next.
She had never dreamed of being a princess in a tower. But as she looked around her tent, empty of warmth and comforts, she wished for one night she could be.
And if she couldn’t have that, well.
She at least wished she could read in peace.
kayenano
Ohoho! Thank you so much for reading!
Join my Patreon to read 20+ chapters ahead!
And don't forget to check out the Discord for fun and pictures!
