In the dim gallery, where marble floors shone under the soft light of crystal chandeliers, Savina paced with raw anger. Her steps echoed like far-off thunder, each one hitting the cold stone like a spark. Old paintings of battles hung on the walls, their colors faded in the low glow, as if the room itself tried to dampen her fury.

  “You carry yourself like a firestorm,” a voice said from behind her, smooth and firm as dark stone.

  Savina turned fast, her heart racing. There in the arched doorway stood The Mistress, wrapped in bck silk that hugged her body close. Not a single dark hair was out of pce, her stance pulling the whole space toward her, making the quiet room feel smaller.

  Savina straightened up, tension rising.

  “If you've come to lecture me—”

  The Mistress's lips twisted into a small, sharp smirk, her eyes throwing Savina's heat right back. “Lectures are for people who need telling what to do. You don't seem like that kind.”

  Doubt tightened in Savina's chest, making her stare harder.

  “Then why are you here?”

  The Mistress moved forward with slow, careful steps, closing the gap like someone enjoying the hunt. The air grew thick between them, buzzing with a tension that made Savina's skin tingle.

  “Just to watch how long that fire of yours holds out before it eats you up inside.”

  “I don't break that easy,” Savina shot back, her words tough even as a hint of doubt crept in.

  The Mistress tipped her head a bit, her eyes sparkling with dark humor.

  “Everyone breaks in time. It's about when... and how it happens.”

  Her voice dropped lower then, soft like a touch that slid right past Savina's walls, stirring things deep down. Savina felt it brush against her thoughts, close and pulling, waking feelings words alone shouldn't reach.

  “Your mother told herself she brought you here to help you,” The Mistress went on, her tone a quiet hum that filled the silence.

  “But the real story hurts more. She gave you away because she had no other moves left. She took your choices from you, Savina. That kind of hurt burns deeper than anything I could start.”

  The words hit hard, stealing Savina's breath. Her chest squeezed tight, emotions twisting inside. She wanted to throw it back, to deny it all and fight, but nothing came out, just an empty pain.

  The Mistress's smile grew, full of quiet triumph. She paused there a second more, her weight in the air heavy, before she turned away.

  “Hold on to that fire, little storm. Those kinds burn out quicker than they think.”

  Her heels tapped lightly on the marble, fading into the quiet as she left, until the gallery felt empty again.

  Savina stayed frozen in pce, shaking not from the usual rage, but from the hard truth The Mistress had id bare. It rang in her head, a constant echo: storm. The word lingered, heavy with warnings of chaos ahead, hinting at ruin and the wild rush of letting it loose.