Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The golden light of the late afternoon streamed through the tall, arched windows of Myríel's bedchamber, casting a warm glow upon the polished wooden floors and the delicate silks that adorned the room. The soft murmur of her maids surrounded her as they fussed over her hair, their nimble fingers weaving the intricate braids that framed her fair face. Myríel sat in her chair, a vision of elven grace, but her heart was heavy, her thoughts far from the opulence of the evening to come. It was the night of the banquet celebrating her engagement to Eridor and their upcoming nuptials.
"Hold still, my lady," one of the maids said gently, as she carefully combed through Myríel's long, golden tresses. The strands shimmered like molten sunlight, cascading down her back in waves as smooth as silk. The maid's touch was light and practiced, but to Myríel, it felt as if each stroke of the comb only added to the weight of her melancholy.
The preparations for her engagement banquet had begun hours ago, and now, as the sun dipped lower in the sky, the final touches were being made. Her maids, loyal and diligent, had removed her day dress—a simple, flowing gown of pale green—and now set about fitting her into the elaborate attire befitting the occasion.
They brought forth the corset, a garment both beautiful and cruel, designed to shape her figure into the desired form of elven nobility. Myríel stood silently as they wrapped it around her slender frame, pulling the laces tight. With each tug, the breath was driven from her lungs, and her ribs compressed until she felt she could scarcely draw air. The bodice of the corset lifted her bosom, highlighting her cleavage in a manner that she found both uncomfortable and unbecoming. Yet she said nothing, for this was the duty expected of her.
Her maids worked with the efficiency of those who had done this many times before. Once the corset was secured, they fastened a bustle around her waist, readying her for the layers of skirts and the rich, jewel-toned gown that awaited. Myríel's reflection in the mirror showed an elven princess of breathtaking beauty, but behind her clear, greyish eyes lay a sadness that could not be masked by even the finest silks.
"Leave me for a moment," she whispered, her voice soft but firm.
The maids exchanged brief glances but obeyed without question, bowing slightly as they left the room, the rustle of their skirts fading into the distance. Alone, Myríel sank onto the edge of her bed, the springs beneath her creaking softly in the silence.
The bed was a refuge, its pillows and covers a familiar comfort, yet tonight it offered her little solace. She gazed at the intricate carvings on the wooden headboard, tracing the lines with her eyes but finding no distraction from the thoughts that weighed heavily on her heart.
Her marriage to Eridor had been arranged for months, and though the engagement banquet was meant to be a joyous occasion, she could not summon the will to celebrate. Eridor was handsome enough, yes, with his dark hair and chiseled features, but his heart was cold, his intentions clear. He desired her wealth, her title, and the alliance her hand in marriage would bring. Love, however, was absent from his pursuit, and Myríel knew in her heart that she could never love him in return.
