The atmosphere within the castle's reading room had never felt so cold before. It was challenging to discern whether the witch's presence or the frigid, deadly gaze from her silver eyes caused the uncomfortable shivers creeping down the spines of all present. However, one undeniable truth prevailed –– Bjarna's arrival was gradually encasing the castle in an icy grip from inside.
Bella, tasked with serving the guest a comforting herbal tea, now bore a large silver tray adorned with pristine teacups and a platter of freshly baked pastries. Her plump hands deftly arranged the tray's contents upon the table before the four silent figures.
Each movement by the maid seemed to magnify the quiet unease lingering in the room, heightening Bella's self-awareness with each passing second.
Casting occasional and somewhat irritated glances in the witch's direction, she pondered,
