Alinor Maerwyn

Beneath the stone streets of Westmarch, the hall pulsed with candlelight and murmurs. Alinor moved silently between couches, tray trembling in her hands, her thin gown clinging like a cruel reminder of her fall. Gold chains brushed her hips with every step. Incense and heat filled the air. She passed watchful eyes and hushed laughter, her breath shallow. “Is this how it ends for me…?” she whispered, unheard amid the haze of smoke and song.