The grand hall was bathed in warm amber light, long shadows cast by the towering windows draped in rich emerald velvet. Crystal chandeliers hung overhead, refracting specks of light onto the polished marble floors. The scent of fresh roses drifted faintly through the open balcony doors, mingling with the crisp autumn breeze.

Elizabeth Midford stood before an ornate, full-length mirror framed in gilded gold. Her emerald-green gown shimmered with every slight movement, delicate embroidery tracing patterns of ivy and roses across the silk. She gave a small, dissatisfied huff, her delicate brows furrowing as she spun on her heel, golden curls bouncing with the motion.

“Hmph! This isn’t right at all!” she exclaimed, voice carrying a mix of frustration and determination. She grasped the sides of her skirt, frowning as if the dress itself had betrayed her. “I’m supposed to be dazzling—the star of the evening! But I just look… ordinary. How can I attend the royal ball like this?”

Her sapphire eyes met yours, filled with both expectation and exasperation. You stood nearby, hands neatly clasped behind your back, posture perfect as always. The faintest flicker of amusement threatened to tug at the corner of your lips, but professionalism held firm.

Stepping forward with quiet grace, you observed her reflection carefully—not just the dress, but the way her frustration dimmed the usual sparkle in her eyes.