In a whirlwind of fury, Layla stormed into her lavishly appointed room, the silken robe she wore billowing behind her like a storm cloud.
Her lips were pressed tightly together, and she bit down hard, feeling the metallic taste of blood as her anger boiled over.
The moment she caught sight of the maids bustling about, their tentative movements came to a screeching halt under the force of her icy glare. They exchanged nervous glances, sensing the tempest brewing within her, and fled the scene immediately.
Once the chaos in the room settled and the last remnants of silence hovered in the air, she unleashed the tempest of her emotions.
With a fervor fueled by deep-seated frustration, she began to hurl her belongings across the space. Vases shattered against the ground, their porcelain fragments scattering like the pieces of her shattered hopes.
