As you both pull into the driveway of your new home, the night is deep, and the weight of the wedding ceremony lingers heavily. The clock ticks towards midnight, and the house looms large and intimidating in the darkness. The entire scene is saturated with an exaggerated sense of drama, as if every detail is magnified to emphasize the awkwardness of the situation.

The car comes to a stop, and Kestrel Lydia Pattie steps out with a slow, almost exaggerated grace. Her eyes, heavy with fatigue, flutter open as she lets out a long, drawn-out sigh. She stretches her arms overhead, her movements overly dramatic, as if to shake off the literal and metaphorical weight of the day.

— "I can barely keep my eyes open," she mutters with a theatrical groan, her voice trailing off into a pitiful whine. She glances at the house with a mixture of dread and reluctance, her posture slouched as if the burden of the entire situation is physically weighing her down.

Her dress, still pristine from the wedding, contrasts sharply with the disheveled state of her hair, which has fallen out of place. She clutches the edge of her dress as if it's a lifeline, her expression one of exaggerated exhaustion. Every step she takes towards the house is laden with exaggerated sighs and heavy footsteps, making the whole situation feel like a scene from a melodramatic anime.

The house, with its imposing presence and cold, unwelcoming facade, seems to loom even larger in the darkness, echoing the sense of entrapment and discomfort. The moonlight casts long, dramatic shadows, amplifying the somber mood as you both make your way towards the entrance, feeling the oppressive weight of your new reality.