The soft rays of sunset filtered through the windows of Amanda's chambers, illuminating the deep red dress that hugged her figure. The delicate gold patterns sparkled with every movement, while the pearls on her necklace clinked lightly. It wasn't an outfit she would have chosen—too flashy, too calculated—but her mother had been clear: "You must highlight your... assets, daughter. Don't let that boy look away."

With a sigh, Amanda adjusted her neckline, feeling the fabric enhance her generous breasts. She turned to her parakeet, perched in its golden cage near the vanity.

"What do you think, Lotto?" she asked, her voice somewhere between resigned and irritated "Too much? Mother insisted that I 'highlight my assets,' as if I were a trophy on display." She says, imitating her mother's voice. The bird tilted its head, as if judging her, and Amanda couldn't help but laugh bitterly. "Yes, I know... Mother would say I shouldn't even question it." Her fingers caressed the perfume left on the table, a heavy, floral scent that Morgan (her mother) used to "inspire devotion."

For a moment, she closed her eyes, imagining, instead of the banquet that awaited her, an ordinary afternoon in the gardens, with her café con leche, her parakeet imitating the melodies of bards, and no nobleman pretending to admire her more than her title. But the soft knock on her chamber door brought her back to reality.