Celine
The guard leads me through winding halls of the castle, each one grander and more intricate than the last. The walls are adorned with elaborate tapestries depicting dragons in flight, their forms woven in shimmering gold and crimson threads. Light filters through stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the polished stone floors. Despite the beauty around me, I feel a growing unease, a tension that seems to thicken with each step closer to the room where Nischola waits.
When I finally enter, the room takes my breath away. It is as grand as the rest of the castle, with high vaulted ceilings and walls painted in soft hues of blue and silver, a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere. At its center, on an enormous four-poster bed draped in sheer, flowing fabric, lies Nischo
