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Typically, it was a night to use the Relic and showcase to the people the true power of their royalty. It would showcase why they sat on the throne as Gods.

But glancing at the statues bordering the garden, he regarded the picturesque stone of his ancestors. With their palms raised to the heavens, it showed their strength was not one of war, and power - unlike the devastation burning across the ocean. No, Oracean magic was one of healing, protection, and beauty. It was powered by the very heavens themselves and connected with all of the life that ever was and ever would be.

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Hazelnut Praline: share an out-of-context line from your wip! From an early chapter of book 1! An early interaction between Elijah and Astrea, when she still doesn't know his name.

Peanut Butter Filling: share a snippet showing a character’s personality. (I answered this in my head completely forgetting to actually answer the real one I'm so sorry jdsfadfsd) -- For context, Book 1 takes place in the nation fo Oracea. Louis is the Prince, and his sister Elayna is the daughter heir. They're treated like that of Gods by those who are in the Palace and even revered as such to the nation since they are the only ones in the nation with magic. Astrea is a bastard, where as these two are the direct heirs.

A skittering– like the spindly legs of a spider much too large to allow alive– crawled outside the stables' roof. Nobody breathed. Khalid stopped humming. Everyone’s head turned to the noise as it continued skittering. 

But, suddenly, it stopped.

Her heart stopped. Heads swerved towards the stretching roof– and eyes darted, wondering where the creature had gone. 

As the seconds stretched to minutes, hope grew that the creature was gone. But they should have known better. 

The moment they dared to hope, the barn window burst open– glass erupted, and everyone covered their faces with their arms. 

Astrea peeked from the crook of her elbow, watching with the breath sucked from her lugs. The long pale legs of the creature – one that again might have once been human, slowly crept inside the barn. 

Everyone watched with eyes wide. 

The moment it brought its entire twisted body into the stable, Astrea knew exactly what it was—a lithe. 

His head creaked as it turned to the side, looking between the faces in the stable. Its limbs appeared human-like, but they were elongated just enough to make one uneasy when you looked upon it.  Its figure was unclothed and pale like the moon, but its skin shimmered in the moonlight, giving a ghost-like glimmer. At the right angle, it could be invisible, but if it kept moving, one could see exactly where it was.

It wasn't the hands that DEATH had stolen from her. It wasn't the hand of her father, promising to save her– or her sister, promising to understand her– nor the hands of the men who had promised to keep her safe. It was no magical hand that offered healing.

It was Renn– The warmth in her gaze– The tenderness of her touch. It was the embrace of a girl who understood how it felt to have her youth– her girlhood– ripped from her. 

In her eyes, she understood, but it was odd how different she looked. 

Where an abundance of violence made Astrea gentle, it made Renn hungry– vengeful. Renn’s anger was like a fire on a chilly night, making Astrea curl into her. It was a home her father could never offer– a home no one would be able to offer. 

Her tears streamed like rain down her trembling chests. With Renn, Astrea finally felt known in her ire and safe in her thirst for retribution.

Look at her and tell me the world does not need her.

Look at her and tell me the world can spin without her bloodied hands turning its gears. 

Watch as she screams a war cry, rallying all who are scared and hopeless in the darkness, and tell me this girl we have crowned as Vengeance should not also don the crown of Hope.

Look at her. She’s violence, love, and vengeance– she is all of it and more. She is War.

People speak of hope as if it is some delicate thing made of dreams whispered in the light of a candle lit under the darkness of war. 

But, it is more than that. 

Hope has dirt on her face, blood on her knuckles, and the grit of determination stretching on her cheeks as she spits out a tooth, rising for another round.

“Will disappeared in front of me. I could have done more.” Astrea frowned up at the towering Antor. He flinched at her rage-filled guilt, comparable to his own. But hers, louder, “You trusted me with him!” Her lips trembled, and her voice cracked in desperation. “I should have tried harder and thought faster—like you taught me!” The moonlight shone on her, and moon bugs erupted around her like cinders rising with her grief. “What were those lessons for? What were they all for if I couldn't save him?”  His surprised red eyes met hers. Grief weighed on equal sides, one unable to topple the other.  “They shouldn’t have done this to us,” she grimaced, red-hot anger foreign on her face. “They grow fat in the capital, happy to be separated from the turmoil of hate and war.” She growled, shaken by the fresh grief and anguish of all they had lost. “They wish to destroy a people that they dont even know! And for what?” Astrea begged. She tried to stop the trembling as she watched Antor step towards her. Red hot tears streamed down her face as she continued, “This wretched nation has become terrorists! For a cause that will only ruin them more! It will only separate them from the world more! For what? For what?!”