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"A memory," the throne said. "A single perfect memory. Choose any you wish, and it will be unmade from your soul."

A man approached the fountain, small as a bird and elegantly terrible. He wore a tailcoat the color of raven wings and a mask stamped with the same crown-and-hourglass symbol. When he lifted his head, she saw not eyes but reflections—tiny, deep wells that mirrored the assembled crowd. horrorroyaletenokerar better

"What is my payment?" Mara asked, though she already knew. In the mirror of the throne, reflections braided: her brother's face, the pocket watch, a child with a paper crown. "A memory," the throne said

Her skin went cold because she understood. The court did not just demand blood or fear. It wanted symmetry. If she had fed a name into the dark to leverage the world, the world would take from her in equal measure. It would take what she loved from the map of her mind until the memory itself was a story told to someone else. He wore a tailcoat the color of raven

"Do you regret it?" the throne asked, more curious than cruel.

Mara felt the room tilt as if the floor had become a sloping stage. The actor behind her rubbed his temples and muttered, "Not the taking again."