Even through the loudness of the orchestra, the sound of her heels could still be heard clearly with every step she took. Her presence made the room ten times colder, crawling with tension. Fear struck the heart of everyone harder than any ghost could.
If the date is correct, the Queen should be in her early 50s during the war council. Yet she still looks dazzling like a white chandelier, beautiful and cold like winter snow. She came with grace, as her silky white hair fluttered like a waving flag.
A fancy dress she was wearing, crowned in jewelry, plated in winterstone. Not a single smile came out of that pale lips, though the way she gaze, reminded people a lot of Blaz. They have a very similar stare, similar length to how wide their eyes open.
But then, all this graceful moment of the Queen was suddenly ruined by the sound of other heels, coming at an insanely fast pace, running in a rush, as if a clock was chasing after them.
