A crescent moon stood watch over the archery range.
Violet looked up at the stars. Wispy clouds drifted across their light. A cool breeze rustled the trees. Her thumb ran over the arrow fletching in her hand.
This was the one place where peace reigned supreme. Queens and kings met their match in Violet when she carried a bow.
She hummed softly. The songs of Eloy marched through her mind, lending their melodies to the vowels her lips formed. She stomped her feet to keep time, letting the music slip between her heart and her wounds.
Dried blood stuck to her uniform. A nasty cut on her forehead still stung. But her song took her away from the pain and anger. She kept humming, stringing an arrow.
The target was small in the dark distance.
She anchored her right hand to the corner of her mouth and let the shaft fly.
Bullseye.
Another arrow.
Another perfect shot.