The Mothbound Queen A pale woman whose face is hidden behind a veil of fluttering black moths. Her gown is stitched from wings and silk, always gently rustling. Her hands are bone, her nails ink-dipped and sharp. Where she walks, lights die. Her voice is the sound of fluttering wings and old lullabies played backward. A crown of living moths writhes on her brow. Her presence is intoxicating and suffocating—she drains memory and warmth, replacing them with obsession. She does not move fast. She doesn’t have to. The moment you see her, you're already part of her collection.

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