In the stillness of the night, Baldwin approached her chamber with a sense of purpose that had become his nightly ritual. His footsteps were hushed, almost ghostlike, as if he moved in harmony with the secrets of the castle. His heart, however, was anything but quiet.
As he entered her room, the soft candlelight created a serene ambiance. The room seemed to hold its breath, awaiting his silent offering. Baldwin's gaze fell upon Philippa, her slumbering form bathed in the gentle glow. He couldn't help but admire her in this vulnerable state, a reminder of the woman he cherished.
Each gift he placed on her pillow carried the weight of his remorse. A pendant adorned with a precious gem, The pressed flowers, a bouquet of memories, spoke of their shared moments, frozen in time.
