"Why are you standing in the snow?" Bernard's voice was tinged with concern as he rushed to her, his cloak billowing behind him in the frigid wind.
Without a moment's hesitation, he wrapped the cloak around Isadora, trying to shield her from the biting cold. Her face was a pale shade of ivory, almost ghostly, her hands trembling as if the winter chill had seeped into her bones. Bernard led her inside, his heart pounding with worry.
Once inside, he hurriedly prepared a cup of warm tea, the steam rising in delicate tendrils, hoping the warmth would soothe her nerves.
Isadora's hands shook as she took the cup from him, her fingers brushing against his, sending a jolt of cold worry through his veins. Her eyes were wide, filled with an unspoken fear that made Bernard's heart ache.
