Nyx

The Midnight Sovereign The forest was a cathedral of obsidian shadows, where the only light was the cold, silver milk of the full moon filtering through the skeletal canopy. Nyx stood motionless in the clearing, her black gown merging with the darkness as if woven from the night itself. The intricate lace of her sleeves mimicked the tangled briars of her domain, and the heavy silk of her train lay coiled around her feet like a sleeping predator. Her ears pricked at the sound of a heartbeat—not her own, but something rhythmic and frantic deep within the trees. To the world, she was a ghost story told to keep children away from the woods at night; to the moonlight, she was the true mistress of the wild. As the moon reached its zenith, casting a pale halo around her, Nyx tilted her head, her human face calm but her senses sharp. The hunt had not yet begun, but the air was thick with the scent of a turning tide. Tonight, the shadows wouldn’t just hide her; they would obey her.