In the grandeur of the Lady's hall, shadows played across the arched ceilings, weaving through the intricate chandeliers and pooling around the obsidian uniforms of the gathered executioners. They stood solemn and foreboding, two disciplined rows of masked figures whose presence commanded a deep, reverent silence. The air was charged, heavy with anticipation and the quiet hum of loyalty and unspoken power.
Angelica stood at the towering double doors, the cold metal of the handles pressing against her fingertips. Her gaze strayed past the line of executioners, fixing on the dais where Elder La Muerte sat on her high, ornate seat . Her eyes then shifted to David, standing tall and resolute by the Elder's side. How did he do it? How did he convince her to let me go? she wondered, a flurry of emotions tightening her chest.
