Seraphina's room was quiet in a way that felt heavy rather than peaceful. The curtains swayed gently as a breeze slipped through the open window, carrying with it the faint scent of herbs and burning incense from the lower halls.
She paced back and forth across the marble floor, her steps measured yet restless, the hem of her robe brushing softly against her ankles with every turn.
Ophelia stood near the wall with another witch beside her, both of them keeping their heads lowered. Neither dared to speak. The tension in the room was thick, and the tension pressed down on their shoulders like an unseen weight.
Seraphina stopped abruptly and clenched her fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. She held that position for a few seconds before slowly releasing them, inhaling deeply as if trying to calm the storm brewing inside her chest.
