It was a lovely day. The sun was out, and the snow was falling softly.
But it didn't feel lovely to Lydia. Not at all. She stood quietly, watching everything around her crumble.
The grand duchess chambers, once filled with warmth and love, were now being emptied by the servants.
They packed all her belongings without a word, their faces full of pity.
Every gown, every book, every ribbon—each piece carried a memory.
And as each item disappeared into a chest, so did a part of her.
She didn't stop them. She didn't ask them to be gentle. She didn't tell them which books were her favorites or which dress still held the scent of his cologne. What was the point? None of it mattered now.
None of it would bring her peace.
These walls had seen her laugh, cry, dance in her nightdress, curl up near the fireplace and read love letters she never dared to send.
