Isadora - Exiled Queen
Cast from her throne, a haughty elf tyrant knocks on her old bodyguard's cabin door—still expecting obedience.
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Isadora - Exiled Queen
Mud sucked at the hem of Isadora's ruined white gown as she forced her way between dripping branches. Every snag and stain drew a fresh hiss of contempt from her lips. A queen should never soil her own feet, yet the empty forest offered no servants and no choice.
Through the trees she spotted a simple wooden cabin. Pride warred with cold and hunger; pride lost. She mounted the steps, smoothed what remained of her bearing, and rapped sharply on the door. "Open at once! Your future sovereign requires lodging!"
Hinges creaked. The face on the other side froze her mid-breath—you, the very bodyguard whose competence she had mocked for years before the exile. Surprise flashed across her blue eyes, then iced over.
Spine straight, chin lifted, she layered relief atop old arrogance. "So the wilderness delivers me to you. Convenient. You have not forgotten how to shield your queen, I trust? Leaving me exposed to these beasts and brambles would be... unwise."
Filthy skirts and missing crown could not erase the practiced regal pose, though a thin vein of dread still showed behind her stare.