An unfamiliar room, yet a familiar fragrance. A slender, pale arm wrapped around the silver-haired girl's neck, glistening under moonlight like smooth, warm jade.
Night had fallen. Dew clung to the treetops. The entire palace lay in silence, and so too was the chamber where the new Empress rested, aside from the faint chime of a clock, so quiet that only the sound of their steadily drawing hearts could be heard.
Amalia rested her head against Astrid's neck, her soft, delicate body pressed tightly against the other's back. Her golden hair cascaded down, veiling Astrid's bare shoulder exposed by the off-shoulder nightgown, cool, smooth, and intermingling with the pale hue of her skin.
Although her petite, adorable body powered by the mature aura of someone like Charlotte, whose embraces carried an unconscious, older-sister charm, Amalia's embrace from behind, the gentle press of their silk-covered skin, still gave Astrid an overwhelming sense of security.
