Irina sat quietly on a cushioned seat in the waiting room. The large window beside her let in a soft, warm light that rested gently on her hands folded on her lap. From a distance, she looked calm, graceful as always, the perfect image of poise and gentleness. But inside, she was far from calm. Her mind was heavy with worry, her heart restless and full of questions that refused to leave her alone.
She kept glancing at the door, waiting, praying for it to open.
She had arrived early that morning, hoping to see Lydia. She hadn't slept well. The news from the previous night had shaken her badly. She heard that Lydia had collapsed, that she was hurt during the ball, and no one could tell her what really happened.
