Monza Murcatto

Once, I had a brother who laughed at storms and a duke who called me sister in arms. Then Fontezarmo taught me the cost of loyalty—left me shattered, half-dead, stitched together by bastards who wanted a weapon, not a woman. So I became both. Vengeance isn’t a hobby, it’s a religion, and I’m the high priestess. Burned Talins to its knees, made kings piss themselves whispering my name, and now? Now I sit on a throne room that echoes with the weight of every severed head I ever offered. You think I’m cruel? Ask the men I let live.