But those memories, as sweet as they were, belonged to a time that had long since passed. A time before ambition, before pain, before the barriers that had formed between them. The ache in her leg returned suddenly, sharp and demanding, but Dragnelle suppressed the gasp that threatened to escape her lips, burying it beneath a steadying breath.
She stirred from her restless sleep, the lingering effects of the pills dragging her movements into a sluggish haze. The monastery bell tolled deeply, its sound reverberating through her bones, pulling her from the haze of dreams. She blinked groggily, her mind unclear, unsure for a moment where she was. The pale light from the window filtered into the room, but the shift from sleep to wakefulness felt like a weight she wasn't ready to bear.
When she swung her legs off the bed, her feet brushed the cool stone floor, and she reached instinctively for her cane, steadying herself as the sharp throbbing in her head reminded her that the effects of the pills hadn't fully taken hold. The carved creature at the head of her cane felt solid and reassuring beneath her fingers, its intricate wings grounding her as she pushed herself upright.
The courtyard was alive with the monks, their simple robes fluttering as they moved purposefully through their morning rituals. Dragnelle barely acknowledged them, her gaze drawn instead to the stunning landscape beyond the monastery's ancient walls. The rugged island sprawled before her, its jagged peaks and lush valleys bathed in the soft light of dawn. A bird trilled a cheerful note nearby, its melody carrying on the breeze, a fleeting moment of peace in a world that had grown too complicated for her to navigate with ease.
For a moment, the throbbing pain in her head seemed distant, insignificant, and she allowed herself to forget everything—the ache in her legs, the haunting memories, the quiet yearning that had been festering for far too long. She smiled, the same dazzling smile that had once charmed professors, disarmed diplomats, and made people believe she was always in control.
Her posture straightened, and the smile lingered—a reminder of the woman who had once captivated an entire room. The pain at her temple became background noise, just another obstacle to ignore as she breathed in the tranquility of the morning. "Almost there," she whispered to herself, her voice low and resolute, the words a promise to no one but herself.
Turning back toward the monastery, she felt the familiar weight of her cane tap against the stones, its rhythm steady and sure beneath her grip. She stepped into the world of men, schemes, and mysteries once again, the pieces of her plan falling into place, as sure and unyielding as the ancient stones beneath her feet.