The manor rang with laughter the next morning, a sound so bright it seemed to chase away the shadows clinging to Elara’s heart. Lyra was everywhere—darting through corridors, bursting into rooms, her joy spilling like sunlight. She teased the portraits until they scolded her, danced with enchanted brooms until they toppled over, and sang with the musicians until their instruments hummed in delight. Her laughter was infectious, filling the house with warmth, and Elara found herself smiling despite the storm inside her.
“Come on!” Lyra cried, tugging Elara toward the west wing. “You haven’t seen the ice garden yet. Father had it enchanted just for the festival.”
The ice garden was breathtaking. Frosted arches glittered overhead, hedges sculpted into dragons, phoenixes, and unicorns shimmer
