Chapter 7 - The Ascent to the Throne
Elena approached the high-backed armchair as if walking toward an altar.
The guests instinctively parted before her, their expensive silk gowns and tailored trousers brushing against the walls to clear a wide, unobstructed path.
Beatrice, supported entirely by Martha’s trembling arms, was dragged half-backward out of the seat, her velvet skirts pooling around her ankles like spilled ink.
She didn't fight anymore.
Her strength had leaked out through the pearls rolling across the floor.
Elena reached the base of the chair.
She turned around slowly, the heavy burgundy silk swirling around her calves in a rich, dark wave.
She didn't sit immediately.
She ran her palm over the carved mahogany armrest, testing the grain, feeling the deep, generational indentations left by decades of elbows and resting hands.
She looked out over the crowd.
Every face was turned upward, pale and compliant in the candlelight.
She lowered her weight into the cushion.
May you like
The velvet groaned softly beneath her, accepting its new master with a sigh of compressed air.
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