My final night at the palace arrived quietly, sneaking in beneath a cloak of velvet darkness and silver moonlight. Tomorrow, I'd return to the Arcanum, stepping into shadows thicker and colder than any I'd yet faced. But for now, warmth lingered within the halls of home, gently woven through the tapestry of familiar voices and quiet laughter.
Dinner was held in the intimate warmth of the family dining hall, golden chandeliers casting soft, honeyed light over polished oak and velvet cushions. My siblings filled the room with chaotic joy, Aeris trying unsuccessfully to braid flowers into Smaug's scales, while Arion valiantly attempted to negotiate a trade: my dessert for his personal drawings, generously described as "future masterpieces."
"No deal," I said dryly, shielding my caramel tart possessively. "I prefer desserts that don't involve crayon-sketched dragons that look suspiciously like angry cats."
