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Chapter 65 Shoe Maker
publish date:
2022-01-17 07:45:45
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Will Bear the Moon Chapter 105 Prt. II As It Bites It Doth Stings
*Mykhol*Mykhol could have smiled fully—fangs bared like a wolf over a fresh kill. He could have laughed openly, throwing his head back, golden hoops ringing together like celebration bells as he dissolved into sheer glee. Why, he could have gloated to his heart's content—performed a thousand rehearsed victories from those long, sour years of exile, each one more elaborate than the last.But instead—He did something far more delicious.Mykhol lifted a hand.“Her Empress is being treated,” he said evenly, letting words fall slow and measured, like a blanket smoothed over a shivering body. "It was a simple faint. Too much fatigue."Relief rippled through the crowd in a visible wave—shoulders unknotting, lungs remembering how to expand. A few exhaled as if they'd been holding breath since the crown struck marble. Someone murmured thanks—to gods, saints, anything that would listen.Mykhol simply watched it all, satisfied by how easily a room could be guided with the right tone. Like her
Will Bear the Moon Chapter 105 A Cost Too Much To Lose
*Mykhol*The room surged with urgency around Mykhol like a tide of incompetence trying to disguise itself as purpose.Servants collided in their desperation to appear useful—or at least avoid appearing useless. Thin-soled slippers skidded on polished marble with the squeal of leather on stone. A basin sloshed, hot water leaping its rim in trembling arcs that caught firelight like liquid amber before splattering. Someone's hip cracked against a side table—a curse bitten back behind fangs—nearly sending a porcelain pitcher to its death. Only caught at the last second with a sharp intake of breath that sounded more prayer for thanks then concern before being swallowed whole.And all the while, in midst of the ramblings, his vermillion gaze remained fixed on the three severe faces surrounding Ana's bed. He watched them as they murmured in rapid-fire consultation, their hushed voices threading through the room like anxious whispers."A cloth—no, cleaner than that. Fresh linen," Sir Eden,
Will Bear the Moon Chapter 104 Prt. II Tumbling Down
*Admiral Nugen*The room heard it before it understood it—the thin, surrounding chime of metal striking frozen stone. Clink... clink...It bounced. One step. Then another down the dais. Each clang was hollow and soft, yet somehow stealing breath from every throat. The roaring tide of heated argument—the fanged protests, the open sneers—ripped away like silk twine torn from a corset. Every thrashing voice silenced by that small, terrible sound.As if all were lost to it. As if the unfathomable had finally given in.It spun once, firelight catching in its delicate tines, before tipping forward and landing face-down at the very bottom step—the sound splintering through the chamber, something more concave. Final. Still.Like a rose snapped at the stem.And then—it was her turn.A cascade of silver hair filled Nugen's vision like a waterfall of cursed moonlight breaking through the shadows between the dark skies. Fragile and thin. Where moonlight shouldn't be.No!His heart didn't beat—i
Will Bear the Moon Chapter 104 The Weight of Nothing
*Anastasia*Something is wrong.I feel it the moment I step through the archway. Like a wrongness that crawls up my spine in frozen fingers seeking bone.The fire pits are overstocked, logs piled high enough to throw heat that should comfort. Emphasis on the should, yet the cold cuts straight through the thin soles of my slippers. Climbing my legs with the persistence of rising water. It settles between my shoulder blades, coils at the base of my skull under my braid like a serpent made of ice.The air stinks of smoke and iron and something faintly sour beneath it all, like a room shut too long.Too loud. Too exposed. Too empty.Stone answers stone as I cross the threshold, each footfall ringing sharper than it should, as though the hall itself has become a drum and I'm the stick beating against it. The announcer bellows my name—formal, booming, reverent as always. As usual, it’s followed by the familiar trigger, a wave of acknowledgment.But that only enhances what is wrong."Your Em
Will Bear the Moon Chapter 103 Prt. III So Begins Good Intent By Poor Design
*Bruno*The door clicked shut behind them. A soft, final sound—yet somehow it echoed through the study like a judge's gavel, like trap snapping on a mouse. Bruno flinched at it. Or maybe at the silence that rushed in after, thick and suffocating as wool pressed over mouth and nose.Either way, footsteps faded down the corridor- Ana’s soft sfft sfft of slippers over stone, Nugen’s clink of sword against leather holster- muffled by oak and distance until even their phantoms dissolved into nothing. And even when silence reigned absolute, Bruno didn't move.Couldn't, if he was being honest with himself. He stood lost in that fractured space—shoulders rigid beneath his muslin tunic that suddenly felt thinner than a breath of paper,fingers curled so tightly into the hem that his knuckles ached. The rough fabric bunched in his fists, damp with nervous sweat he hadn't realized was gathering.His burgundy gaze dropped to the heart of the tray—the cup of blood. Once fresh, it had begun to cl
Will Bear the Moon Chapter 103 Prt. II Wake to Ash
*Anastasia*My eyes rip open as I jerk up right. Blinding light floods my vision sharp and searing. Frigid air claws into my lungs like frozen fingers seeking my heart, each gasping a drowning in reverse, pulling in ice instead of water.And then it hits me. Pain. It flares across my lip like a match struck. The taste hits immediately. Copper and Salt.My hand flies to my mouth, fingers trembling against wetness. Blood. Just a smear—my own, warm and real—but enough to make my stomach twist into knots that won't untangle. I've bitten through my lip hard enough to break skin, hard enough to wake myself with pain rather than let the dream continue.The pain anchors me. Tells me I'm alive. Awake. Here.But where is here?Confusion floods over my head. And it takes me a moment to register my surroundings. Shapes blur and sharpen, familiar but wrong, like looking at home through broken glass. Then the scent hit-not snow and ash and Nicoli's blood, but ink. Old wood. Candle wax. Paper and s
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