The glass hall resembling a black mirror, with its floor and walls polished and ink-colored, exudes a different kind of tranquility.
Clad in a long black dress, Tilan gradually walked into the center of the hall. She stopped beneath the Black Rose Throne, gazing at the square and solemn position, her eyes slightly closed as myriad thoughts arose in her mind.
Such a position is enviable, yet it carries many burdens and is not a choice for carefree ease.
The crown forged by human hearts is dignified and heavy.
If it were in the past, she would have had countless words to express, but at this moment, she silently ascended the steps, turned slowly, and sat in that position.
When her back leaned against the cold throne, silver patterns spread from her feet in all directions, finally adorning the entire hall.
