In the heart of the forgotten realm of Coventry stood the Midnight Library, an endless cathedral of knowledge hidden from mortal eyes. Its towering shelves held books that whispered, candles that burned with sentient flame, and secrets that could unmake kings. And there, beneath a vault of arched windows that caught the moonlight like crystal webs, she stood—The Dark Duchess. No one remembered her true name, only the stories. That she had once been a scholar, radiant and kind, born of noble blood and drawn to the forbidden arts not for power, but for truth. She had vanished centuries ago, swallowed by shadows and rumor, only to return draped in black velvet and adorned with jewels that shimmered with captured starlight. Her gown was midnight spun into silk, embroidered with silver glyphs known only to the oldest of spellbooks. Her dark hair cascaded like a waterfall over her shoulders, and her eyes—those ancient, fathomless eyes—held storms of sorrow and wisdom. Her presence turned pag...
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