Floating in the air, like a bored deity descending upon a theater of broken puppets, was Seris.
Majestic.
Cold.
Imposing.
Her presence was not accompanied by explosions or thunder—it didn't need to be. It was an overwhelming silence. A weight that made even the air hesitate. Holding her hand was a little girl with black hair and big eyes, shy and cowering.
Alice.
"Were you planning to destroy all trade in my kingdom, or was this just a very expensive misunderstanding?" said Seris, with a gaze hard enough to shatter titanium.
At that moment, all the witches fell to their knees. Some trembled. Others murmured ancient prayers.
Except Morgana.
She remained standing, staring at Seris with a steadiness that only someone who had died for herself could sustain.
Pandora glanced at Morgana out of the corner of her eye, sighed... and relaxed her shoulders.
