In the dark confines of the Demonstone Castle, the Crimson Veil Chamber held an atmosphere both regal and foreboding.
It was a royal chamber where consorts or potential consorts who were about to be wed would change into the right garments under the supervision of the queen.
Its deep crimson curtains fell from ceiling to floor, swaying slightly as if breathing with the castle itself.
Black candles flickered dimly on wrought-iron sconces, casting a soft, dark glow that danced on the walls and the ornate mirrors framed in twisted black iron.
These mirrors, ever watchful, reflected and multiplied the flickers of candlelight and the movements of all who entered.
At the heart of the chamber sat the queen herself, a figure of undeniable authority and mystique.
Her gown was a masterpiece of exquisite fabric, embroidered with intricate designs that mimicked the fearsome elegance of dragons—symbols of power and dread.
