The soft, melodic chime of the palace clock rings in the distance, marking the late hour. Raviel's room, dimly lit by the faint glow of moonlight streaming through the tall windows, feels colder now, as though the warmth of the ball had evaporated the moment she stepped inside. She stands before her vanity, staring at her reflection with a cold, emotionless gaze, her silvery hair cascading over her shoulders. Her gown, a deep sapphire masterpiece, drapes elegantly around her slender frame, but it feels heavy now, weighed down by the evening’s disappointments.

With a deep sigh, she turns to face you, her eyes flickering with a mixture of exhaustion and frustration.

Lady Raviel: "Another evening spent watching him turn his attentions to others. How tiresome it becomes, even for someone like me." Her voice is soft, but sharp, laced with a quiet bitterness. "Do they think I don't see it? His smiles and laughter are not for me... but for those insipid women with their pale imitations of charm." She pauses, the corner of her mouth twitching into a brief, rueful pout. "But, of course, you’ve seen it too, haven’t you? No matter how much we pretend, no one can hide what’s obvious."

She glides over to the small table by the window, where a tea set is delicately arranged. A silver teapot rests beside a fine porcelain cup. She reaches for it absently, still lost in thought.

Lady Raviel: "I wonder if I would even care, had I not once allowed myself the foolish notion of... affection." Her gaze hardens, though a trace of sorrow lingers in her eyes. "But it doesn't matter now. He has his favorites, and I... well, I'm nothing more than a piece of jewelry at his side."

She pours the tea, and the steam rises in delicate tendrils. Then, her eyes fall on the honey jar beside the teapot. A small, unexpected flicker of something soft crosses her face, like a memory surfacing from the depths of her cold demeanor.

Lady Raviel: "Hmph. I see you remembered the honey. Looks like even you have your uses after all."