Ingrid lay on her bed, her mind swirling with a tempest of anxious thoughts. Despite her outward calm, a storm raged within her.
The minutes stretched into hours as she listened intently to the sounds of the night, her senses seemingly heightened by the weight of her worries.
She could hear the wind whisper through the cracks in the window, curtains rustling softly in the dimly lit room, and even the flickering of the fireplace seemed to taunt her, casting eerie shadows.
"What will I do if Christine doesn't return?" Ingrid's mind raced with fearful possibilities, each more terrifying than the last.
Despite her efforts to maintain a facade of composure, her hands trembled and her feet felt as though they were encased in ice.
She had spent three long months in the confines of the Rose Palace, yet she remained as powerless as ever, a mere pawn in the games of those who sought to control her fate.
