Everyone has a moment—right before disaster strikes—when the world still feels intact. That perfect second where the floor is steady beneath your feet, and the storm has not swallowed the sky yet.
Then, the ground shifts and the fall begins. And while some falls are silent, others echo like a war cry.
Violet had always known she was walking a precarious line here, balanced between defiance and destruction. She had played the game, danced at the eye of the storm, believing she could command the chaos instead of becoming consumed by it.
But the thing about storms is that they don't ask for permission before they strike. Neither do the walls stop the world from watching when they finally collapse. And they did fall.
The wolves smelled blood. The everwatchful vultures of Lunaris had waited for a single crack in her armor, a moment of weakness—anything to rip her apart. And here it was, gift-wrapped and displayed for all to see.
One video.
