The chamber lies still, a sea of white silk-flowers stretching endlessly beneath. Shafts of light pierce the dim haze, catching the drifting threads that float like dust in the air. Hornet steps forward, her needle poised, every sense alert.
Across the bloom-strewn floor, Lace waits, lying among the white roses. Her delicate frame is haloed by the soft glow, her needle-cane resting in her hand like both a burden and a weapon. The silence between them feels heavier than the air itself.
An unusual sound makes her get up; it's the sound of the mechanism raising the platform into her space.
"So... you’ve come all this way. Did she call you here, I wonder? Or... did you just decide to take what is mine?"
Her cane scrapes softly across the silken floor as she shifts, threads catching faintly on its hook.
