The weather was particularly nice today.
Ilaria stepped into the palace gardens with a newfound grace, her presence composed for the day and the last traces of the morning's intimacy tucked neatly beneath layers of silk. Her gown, a soft winter blue, caught the pale, pearlescent light of the overcast sky, while silver embroidery curled like frost along her sleeves and whispering of the season.
The cold had settled properly now.
Snow drifted down in unhurried spirals, gathering along the stone paths and settling in gentle hushes over the garden beds. The last of autumn's vibrant blooms had long since surrendered, buried beneath a pristine layer of white. What remained were the sturdy winter shrubs and the skeletal arches of trellises, standing like patient sentinels.
