<aside>

Aislyn should have died at the bottom of that cliff many years ago. She would have—had it not been for that nameless stranger who had saved her through means she still does not know till this day.

</aside>

Aislyn always knew, without a doubt, absolutely, most definitely, that she vehemently hated this annual trip her family did for Saint Seiros Day. She knew that hatred was growing every year, but this year truly took the cake.

Her family didn’t even have a personal reason to travel to Garreg Mach—other than the fact that her family lived nearby and it would look bad on them if they didn’t go celebrate the Archbishop’s birthday. It should have been the same and boring outing her parents forced her to do every year. A normal outing where she would have been forced to sit, stand, knew at a pew while listening to the church choir sing praises in the Archbishop’s name.

Except it wasn’t.

Not when arrows flew and shot through the heads of the wailing horses. Not when the knights outside shouted to stay in formation as they fought off the assailants. Not when the carriage began to topple over the steep cliffs of Zanado.

Especially not when her father and mother failed to grab her hand, because their hands were busy protecting her little brother and sister.

It had happened all so fast, but she could still remember the way her father screamed her name as his fingers briefly brushed against hers, failing to gain any grip—forced to watch her body toppled within the carriage while it fell off the cliff.

Warm liquid was starting to steep into her dress, adding onto the already heavy weight from the gems and layers of damask fabric and fur that had been protecting her from the frosty winter.

Well, it definitely keeping her warm alright.

All she could do was let out a weak laugh—at least, that’s what she thought. Of all days, this had to happen…