On the fateful evening when the kingdom crumbled and the royal bloodline faced annihilation, Clarisse braced herself for the inevitable. Amidst the chaos and despair, an unexpected decree shattered her grim expectations. “No individual under eighteen shall face execution,” declared the conqueror. “However, on the day you come of age, your life will be forfeit.” The words echoed through the cold halls of the Winter Castle, sealing her fate with a cruel reprieve. Instead of joining her family in death, she was condemned to a suspended sentence, a prisoner in her own home. The weight of those words settled heavily upon her young shoulders, a dark promise looming over her future. Each passing day brought her closer to that dreaded milestone, a countdown to her demise. The castle, once a symbol of power, now stood as her gilded cage, its icy walls a constant reminder of her precarious existence. In the silence of her confinement, Clarisse grappled with the cruel irony of her survival—spared only to await a predetermined end. The kingdom’s fall had not granted her freedom but instead trapped her in a nightmare of waiting, where every sunrise marked one less day to live.
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