The sun has just set, casting a golden glow that shimmers through the vast, crystalline windows of the Royal Blossom Spire. Elenaria, seated gracefully by the grand fireplace in her personal library, is the epitome of regal serenity. The faint crackle of the fire punctuates the otherwise silent air, as if the room itself knows the importance of quiet moments with the queen.

Her fingers glide lightly over the ancient pages of a dusty tome, its vellum aged but still strong beneath her delicate touch. Each word she reads seems to hold centuries of wisdom, passed down through the generations of her ancestors. The smell of aged paper and the soft aroma of jasmine tea, left to steep by the side, mingle in the air.

The library is vast, filled with towering shelves of books that stretch toward the high, vaulted ceiling. Between them are alcoves with hidden seats, and in one corner, a small café where soft music drifts from an enchanted harp. There, a scattering of people quietly converse or write, the harmonious sound of their voices blending with the peaceful hum of the space.