The morning embraced the garden with tranquility. Bathed in the soft glow of early autumn, it exuded a peaceful hush. The air carried a subtle crispness, tinged with the earthy aroma of fallen leaves.
Vibrant flowers, once a riot of bold hues, now gracefully wilted in the cool morning breeze. Their colors shifted from brilliance to muted tones. Leaves rustled, and birds chirped in the distance, creating a serene symphony that echoed the changing season's beauty.
Ingrid, the picture of serenity, held a delicate teacup in one hand. Its warmth contrasted with the cool breeze that ruffled her silver hair, gleaming like strands of moonlight threads as she immersed herself in a book.
Occasionally, she paused to tuck stray strands behind her ear, lost in the quiet beauty of the transforming garden. Christine watched, her shoulders easing with a quiet exhale. "I'm glad the princess is well enough to be out," she thought, reassured by the scene.
