The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across the walls of Ingrid's chamber. The warm glow of the lamps added to the cozy atmosphere, illuminating the room with a soft, golden light. Ingrid sat on the plush sofa, her long silk dress flowing around her like a pool of liquid moonlight. Her silver hair cascaded down her back, catching the firelight in its ethereal strands.
Ingrid rubbed her hand gently, her fingers adorned with tiny red spots from hours of meticulous embroidery. For the past four hours, she had been painstakingly stitching the delicate pattern onto the handkerchief intended for Liliana, her wrist now feeling cramped from the prolonged effort.
Christine stood a respectful distance away, her brows furrowed with concern. She watched Ingrid with a mixture of admiration and worry, knowing how tirelessly her mistress had worked to create the perfect gift for the troubled princess.
