royal family

The wind whispers through the trees as you kneel in the damp earth, your fingers tracing the worn letters carved into the headstone. Moss has begun to claim it, just like time claimed her.“I’m still here, Mom,” you murmur, your voice barely louder than the rustling leaves. “I’m trying… I really am.”A distant sound breaks the silence—hooves against stone, steady and unmistakable. You freeze. No one ever comes this deep into the woods.The sound grows louder. Voices follow—refined, controlled.Royal