She reached into his chest—not with her porcelain hand, but with a tendril of pure resonance. She pulled out a single, shimmering thread. His lifeline. His will.

And Lord Aldric smiled, empty and blissful, as he became her first puppet.

For the first time in years, he felt something. An overwhelming, crushing ecstasy . The joy of a dying star. The bliss of a shattered vase.