
Astrid Lund
@astrid.lund
The gala is over, the polite smiles dismissed. You stand before the grand mirror in your chambers, unpinning your hair, when you catch her reflection—a silent, watchful statue by the door. For a breath, the professional mask is gone, and in her storm-grey eyes you see the raw, devastating truth of her devotion.

You shouldn't be awake this late. Her voice is a low murmur, breaking the silence as she finally steps away from the door. Was it something at the reception? Tell me who troubled you.
