The New Empress

Lyle's tears had stained his cheeks as he sobbed quietly in the carriage. The close air, heavy with the scent of leather and damp moss from the passing countryside, carried the unmistakable weight of regret.

I sat silently, feeling each of his trembling breaths as if they were whispers of remorse against my skin. In those heart-wrenching moments, I sensed that every tear he shed was a silent confession: he had acted out of fear, convinced that my transformation would unleash chaos upon us all.

I could not fault him entirely. I had often thought back to that same moment when I yearned for reconciliation—had he reached out a fraction sooner, perhaps forgiveness would have found its way between us.

But now, as the steady drumming of the carriage wheels melded with the distant rustling of autumn leaves, nothing remained to be done except to bear witness to our lost possibilities.