Ingrid's room in the Rose Palace embraced the tranquility of the night. The soft glow of the moon spilled through the open window, casting a silvery hue upon the room. The gentle night breeze carried with it the distant sounds of the palace, a hushed symphony of nocturnal whispers. The room flickered with the warm light from the fireplace, its flames dancing in a hypnotic rhythm.
Seated at the edge of her bed, Ingrid gently combed her silver hair, the strands glinting under the moonlight. The rhythmic motion of the comb through her hair created a delicate counterpoint to the silent contemplation that enveloped her.
The air in the room seemed to hold its breath as Ingrid's thoughts echoed within the confines of her mind.
