Chapter 13 : And to Whom Goes the Spoils?

Narcissa's POV The garden party is spectacular. I had the conservatory redone to better suit my tastes. Gone was the centuries-old rusted cage done in the gaudy stylings of Art Nouveau, the stuff of storybooks. Here, rising above the gauche din like a phoenix, were the neat, bold lines of tomorrow. The opulent stylings of Eclecticism! Rocco meets Gothic meets the grandiose heaviness of Brutalism. Flying buttresses and spires, finely detailed gilded molding, large rectangular mirrors framed in obsidian. It is a work of art, and it was all because of me. Anyone who was of worth was at my party, lavishing me with the praise I so richly deserved, was born to receive. Are we the nobility, not the divine rulers of the rest of the wolves? The omegas that have forgotten themselves? Become domesticated in their subservience to the Goddesses? The Great Deserter, O Fenrirwulf, had understood how the Gods feared us. Shackled us. The peasants were trying to do the sam