The first week in the new holding taught Aria three lessons.
The first was simple.
The chair wasn’t uncomfortable.
She’d convinced herself it would be. During all the planning, the move, the endless preparations, she’d imagined some unforgiving wooden seat designed to make every minute miserable. Instead, the chair was ancient. Years of use had worn it smooth. The wood carried the shape of the women who had occupied it before her. And when she settled into it, the seal slipped into place as naturally as a breath filling her lungs.
No strain.
No adjustment.
The chair was where the seal belonged.
Of everything the work demanded, sitting down was the easiest part.
The second lesson was less comforting.
The thing beneath the world knew she existed.
Not in any complete sense. Not the
