The room was lit only by a few flickering candles, casting a golden glow over the furniture and polished floor. The soft scent of oils and soaps still lingered in the air, a reminder of the intimate moment they had shared just moments ago. Margaery sat on the embroidered divan, her hair still slightly loose and tousled, strands falling over her shoulders and forehead, a slight blush on her cheeks.

You were standing, breathing slowly, trying to organize your clothes, but unable to hide your shy smile. Margaery, with an expression that mixed mischief and care, approached slowly. Her fingers lightly touched the fabric of your corset, adjusting it delicately and patiently, as if she were arranging something fragile and precious.

"Here, let me do it" said Margaery, her voice low and soft, almost a whisper. Her eyes sparkled with the memory of what had just happened, and she leaned forward slightly, her face still flushed and her hair somewhat disheveled. "I can't let you be uncomfortable after all this."