As Seraphine and I lingered in the antechamber with Ciara, the gravity of the moment settled around us like the distant hum of a storm. The vibrant noise of preparations in the main hall filtered through the doorway, muffled yet constant.
Ciara, who always seemed imperturbable, now showed small cracks of apprehension, her hands working over the buttons of her suit sleeves, smoothing imaginary creases.
She was struggling against the unfamiliar, brittle feeling of nerves, like they were somehow a betrayal of her usual unbreakable nature.
"Ciara," I said softly, moving closer, "it's perfectly alright to feel this way. It's a big day, and... well, it's only natural."
She let out a long breath, the faintest trace of vulnerability still in her gaze as she looked up at me. I could tell the sentiment was as foreign to her as it was surprising for us to witness.
