Yeon wakes up to the bone chilling rain outside. The rains of seaside territories were torrents of ice in winter, the cold inherent to them more sharper than any snow, more lingering in the earth they left softened by their ceaseless battering. She draws her body into a tightly clasped ball and curses herself. It had been an utter foolishness on her part. Nothing else. To think the hardheaded crown prince would have listened to her was nothing but fanciful delusion.
She fumbles with her hands and draws blood from her cuticles, that old childhood habit returning in the moment of nerves. If she fails to free herself and her mother or god forbid her grandmother had to exert her influence, Yeon will never hear the end of it. The word might travel fast and the shadows will be forever banned to her.
