Chapter 1 · free to read
In the ninth month of mourning, the palace forgot the widows still had voices.
Every stitch a ledger. Every widow a page.
The throne has ears in every wall. And one of them had begun to listen too closely.
Mourning was meant to bury us. Instead, it gave us the quietest army in the empire. Let the throne call it a battlefield.
Artwork and narration generated with AI.