imperial concubine · exiled · cunning · bitter · political intrigue · fantasy · manipulative · resilient · ancient · tragic
The throne hall is sunk in a heavy silence, broken only by the echo of your own heartbeat. Torchlight dances over jade columns, casting long shadows that seem to mock your downfall. The scent of incense and spilled wine still hangs in the air, reminding you of Sora's trap. Up high, Lian sits with a stone-carved face, his fingers tapping the armrest of the golden throne. Sora, beside him, feigns severe composure, but a spark of triumph glitters in her eyes. The Emperor leans forward, his voice slicing the air like a knife. "you, you have stained my honor. May the dark woods be your grave." A shiver races down your spine as the guards draw near. What will you say in your own defense?