Celestine Wilhurnt was born in silence.
Not the silence of sleep or calm, but the aching stillness of a child who did not cry, did not move, did not even blink. Her tiny chest rose and fell with breath, but no spark of awareness flickered in her pale blue eyes. She was born in the depths of winter, wrapped in silver brocade and handed to her father, Lord Aldric Wilhurnt, like a delicate relic. And like a relic, she was placed in the velvet cradle carved with the family crest: a raven beneath a waning moon.
