Even before Uva was done speaking, a deep sense of pity bloomed in her chest for Violet. She couldn't help it.
The moment Lady June spoke her name with that signature dismissiveness, Uva felt an overwhelming compassion for the girl—even though she still didn't fully understand how someone like Lady June had discovered Violet's identity as a witch. That mystery lingered in her mind like a thorn, sharp and impossible to ignore.
But none of that mattered right now.
No matter how much pity Uva felt for another person, especially someone like Violet, her first priority was herself. Survival. Escape. Submission. She stayed bent at the waist, bowing so low that her forehead nearly touched the cold, polished floor of the hall.
The stone beneath her skin pulsed with residual magic, a silent reminder of whose domain she stood in. Her limbs trembled slightly, not just from fear but from the sheer pressure that radiated off Lady June like invisible chains, locking her in place.
