Lydia sat quietly in the terrace. The air was soft and still, filled with the scent of spring blossoms. She had just finished her bath. Her skin glowed under the sun, smooth and warm from the oils. Her hair was damp, tied loosely behind her. She wore an emerald robe, silk and flowing, the fabric catching the light with every small movement.
Her lunch was spread gently before her. Warm bread, nectar, sweet fresh fruits, and a slice of soft vanilla cake. She sipped from a delicate cup filled with nectar, light and golden. Everything was peaceful. The sounds of birds chirping in the distance, the soft rustle of trees, the clink of her spoon as she reached for a grape. She looked calm. She looked like someone at peace.
Then she heard it.
Footsteps.
Soft, slow, dragging.
Lydia didn't look up at first. She knew who it was. The air around her seemed to shift slightly, as if the wind held its breath.
