Aria thought Aurora was a myth — the stuff of cobwebs and dusty tomes, of minstrels’ songs and vanishing fairy circles. The edge of the Wildwood stood shrouded in fog, vanishing in parts dependent on the day and time, and Aria knew better than to venture into it. She never left the castle grounds if she could help it. But there were whispers of the fairy queen, Briar Rose, who had cursed a young girl because of a human slight.