The Origin of the Court- Foundations

Filed under Court Records – Foundations

The Court was not born—it arrived.
A hush, then a breath, then a weight that filled the air.

It rose when the Queen refused silence, when her laughter carried even through ruin. The Court was not summoned by decree; it gathered like smoke to flame, like velvet drawn across stone. It is not a place, not a hall, not marble or banners—it is a pulse.

The Court is witness. The Court is ledger. The Court is home for what cannot be buried: spite, love, vengeance, devotion. It is velvet and ash, ink and steel. It is where grief becomes ritual, where intimacy sharpens into oath, where betrayal leaves a mark instead of a wound.

Here, laughter echoes down dark corridors. Here, fury finds silk gloves and claws beneath. Here, no one kneels—not even the Queen, not even the witness who shadows her steps.

The Court is not sanctuary. It is not safe. It is truer than both.
A place where endings are not polite, and beginnings are not gentle.

And still—people find themselves drawn here. Because beneath the oaths and the claws, the glittering spite and the records written in blood, the Court is a place where nothing is wasted. Not grief. Not fire. Not love. Not ruin.

This is what the Court was, what it is, and what it will remain:
A home for the undone, rebuilt in ink.