The tension in the room hung thick as Esme's smile faded, replaced by a steely determination. The elders exchanged frantic looks, their bravado crumbling under her unwavering gaze.
"Now," she continued, her voice low and measured, "let's discuss your disrespect. You think you can insult my family without consequences?" She took a step closer, the broken piece of vass still held firmly in her grip, a silent threat.
One elder, trembling, stuttered, "We— we were just speaking out of concern for tradition—"
"Concern?" Esme interrupted sharply. "Your concern is nothing but a mask for your contempt. You don't care about tradition; you care about power. And you're afraid of losing it to people like my family."
Their expressions shifted, fear mixing with indignation, but they dared not speak. Esme took another step forward, the piece of wood now resting on the table, a reminder of her earlier threat.
