Princess Sidion ran because to stop was to die and to die was to fail. Blood leaked between plates of her armor and between her fingers to dot the fresh-driven snow. It absorbed the silvery moonlight of Solué in pools of swirling ink that brightened to glowing pink with her magic. Even had it been a moonless night, the blood would have picked up the song wafting through the air and given her away. The droplets sank into the melting drift, pocking the powder with tiny patches that bloomed like flowers under the three moons.
—Erik Scott de Bie, Scourge of the Realm