Book 19: Fate

Naomi

Moonrise gleams under a light snowfall. The golden city shines in shades of silver, and the neon reach of shop signs and streetlights casts a multicolor blur through the fourth-story windows of my mom’s office in the palace. 

She rises from her desk, but her gaze is locked on the piece of paper clutched between her hands. I glance away from the window, eyeing her progress across the room to where she comes to a stop near the main doors and carefully folds the paper, slips it in an envelope, and stamps it with hot, tacky wax, stamping it with our family’s royal crest. She drops the envelope in a box, where one of her many assistants will find it in the morning and mail it. To where? Beats me. I avoid all mention of paperwork if possible. It seems against nature, all witchy things considered. 

“You’re up awfully late,” Mom murmurs.