Contemplation
"Power, huh?"
Argider reclined on the silken expanse of her bedchamber, her body languid from hours of grueling swordplay.
She stretched out her arm, scrutinizing her hand as it hovered under the moonlight. Frail fingers, thin as whispers, seemed barely tethered to the bones beneath.
Her lips twisted into a mirthless smirk before she let her hand drop against the velvet sheets.
Power.
It wasn't just the prerogative of her wife—the Empire's true sovereign—but a currency demanded of her, too. A public illusion to maintain. She had to appear powerful, commanding, worthy of reverence.
But she was none of those things. Not anymore. Not ever.
Her autonomy had been eroded, ground down by the omnipresent gaze of the Redemption System.
Every breath she drew, every step she took, was cataloged, analyzed, judged. She was both the ruler and the ruled, shackled by her own empire's machinery and sins.