The Silverward estate shimmered under the late summer sun, its pale stone spires gleaming like polished ivory, casting long, elegant shadows across manicured gardens bursting with roses and lavender.
Marble walkways wound through the grounds, their surfaces so pristine they reflected the sky, while vibrant banners fluttered in the gentle breeze, proclaiming the estate's noble lineage.
Servants moved with practiced efficiency, their steps quick and purposeful, like ants tending to a hive, maintaining the illusion of untouchable grandeur.
But inside, beyond the opulent halls reserved for guests, the air told a different story.
In the shadowed corridors of the far wing, where heavy velvet curtains muted the sunlight to a soft, dusky glow, a secretive silence lingered, thick with unspoken tension.
The walls here were older, their carvings worn, the air heavy with the weight of things hidden.
