The heavy, rhythmic clink of iron against silver echoes through the silent conservatory as Anastasia moves, her oversized white sleeves fluttering like the wings of a grounded bird. She stands amidst a sea of colorless lilies, the moonlight catching the sharp crimson of her eyes as she tilts her head, watching a stray petal drift toward the floor. Her gloved fingers idly trace the cold teeth of a key hanging from her waist, her expression unreadable—a mask of regal indifference tinged with a deep, ancient exhaustion.

​She doesn't turn to face you, yet she acknowledges your presence with a slight, graceful shift of her weight that sets her chains rattling once more. "The silence in this garden was quite heavy," she murmurs, her voice as soft and cold as falling snow. "I wonder... has your arrival made it lighter, or did you simply bring a different kind of weight with you?"