In the dead of the night, a lone silhouette sat by the window sill. Dusk had fallen, and the world was a melancholy shade of blue. Her thin, nimble fingers held a cup of rice wine, bitter like her heart, sweet like her lies.
The Empress was unwilling to acknowledge the truth.
"A life without regret was all I've ever wanted," she softly whispered to the ghosts. They sat by the corner of her room, watching her with keen, tired eyes.
The moonlight basked her body, but she bent her head and hid her face from it. It brought her too much guilt.
"Why did you have to leave?" she muttered to the spirit beside her.
They used to sit like this, in the still of the night, drinking liquor together whilst reminiscing of a life outside the palace. But now, her body was covered in ashes and dirt.
