Jean sat up abruptly, the heavy velvet curtains shrouding her room in darkness, save for a faint glow from the last few embers in the fireplace. Her bed was expansive and grand, made up of deep crimson covers and layers of soft pillows—a luxury she wasn't accustomed to.
Silver candelabras flickered around the room, casting elongated shadows that seemed to dance on the dark wooden walls. The castle's opulence was overwhelming, from the carved headboard adorned with intricate floral designs to the faint scent of jasmine and rosewood lingering in the air.
She rubbed her eyes, her fingers catching on the lace sleeves of her white nightgown. This couldn't be real, she told herself, yet the voice was disturbingly clear.
"Good morning, pumpkin." The words echoed in her mind with a tone both warm and mocking.
