Hours blurred together inside the quiet room, the air thick with the faint scent of rose oil and powder. Celeste sat motionless before the tall mirror, her reflection surrounded by a flurry of movement.
Her snow-white hair—usually tied into a simple braid—had been brushed out until it shimmered like woven silk. Under the soft lamplight, each strand glowed faintly, cascading down her back in smooth, rippling waves. A pair of hands carefully wove a few locks together, pinning them in place with silver ornaments that glinted like frozen tears.
Another maid leaned in to apply the final touches of makeup to Celeste's face, her voice breaking the stillness.
"You look truly breathtaking, Your Highness," she said clearly awed by Celeste's beauty.
Celeste didn't respond. Her eyes remained fixed on her reflection.
Behind her, two more maids worked delicately on her gown, brushing away invisible specks of dust and adjusting the white satin layers that flowed like clouds across the floor.
