Threads of Control

Azael Veyrith stood alone in her private study, the dim chamber bathed in a soft, unsettling violet glow. Shelves lined the walls, packed tightly with tomes bound in ancient leather, their spines cracked and faded from centuries of use. The scent of old parchment mingled with the faint aroma of incense, a heady fragrance that sharpened her focus and clarified her thoughts.

Yet today, even this carefully crafted sanctuary failed to calm the frustration gnawing relentlessly at her composure.

She ran her slender fingers along the edge of a blackened tome, nails sharp enough to leave faint grooves in the aged leather. Golden eyes narrowed, burning with cold intensity as her thoughts inevitably circled back to one increasingly vexing problem:

Liria.