The air within Mitchelle's chambers hung heavy with unspoken tension, a heat that had nothing to do with the flickering hearth at the far end of the opulent room.
The walls were adorned with flowing drapes in deep gold and crimson, their silken surfaces shimmering faintly in the ambient glow of enchanted lamps.
It was a room of both regal beauty and stifling authority, where even the furniture seemed to bow to its occupant.
Yet tonight, it was not the room's majesty that commanded attention, but the two figures standing in its center, their presences so imposing they could have overshadowed even the stars.
Mitchelle stood with her back to Michael, her silhouette framed by the enormous arched window behind her.
The pale light of the moon spilled over her figure, making her appear almost ethereal, like a goddess conjured from legend.
