```plaintext
Twilight.
Glass Island, Hall of Silver and Tin.
"I mean, Sofia, you really don't seem nervous at all."
A crisp girl's voice resonated within the queen's bedchamber.
Ligeia sat at the end of the bed, dangling her legs and munching on a bright red apple. Her tail whipped the blankets on the bed every so often, creating wrinkles and then smoothing them out again.
Lying within the blankets, the queen did not respond.
Looking markedly older than she had a month prior, her eyes were swollen to the point where she could barely open them, and her spirits seemed much more deflated.
She simply unfolded a sweater she had just finished knitting, admired it for a moment, and then carefully folded it up again, placing it at the head of the bed.
"Sofia?"
Seeing her old friend unresponsive, Ligeia looked back disappointedly at the silent old lady: "I'm talking to you here!
