Morning unfolded in motion.
Not rushed.
Not chaotic.
But purposeful.
Lyra stood in the center of what would soon become the nursery.
Sunlight poured through the tall windows, catching the soft fabrics already being arranged, the unfinished details still waiting for her approval.
She turned slowly.
Taking everything in.
Then
“No.”
The word was calm.
But final.
A group of decorators froze.
Lyra walked toward the corner where a set of carved wooden cribs had been placed.
Beautiful.
Detailed.
Wrong.
“They’re too heavy,” she said, her fingers brushing the edge lightly.
“They feel… restrictive.”
One of the decorators stepped forward carefully.
“We thought the structure would give a sense of.”
“Control?” Lyra finished gently.
A pause.
“That’s not what I want them to feel.”
