Avarine sat before her vanity mirror, her posture immaculate, back straight and shoulders poised as a maid stood behind her, attending to her with quiet diligence. Her hands were folded demurely in her lap, fingers barely moving as though even the smallest fidget might disturb the image of refinement she had been taught to embody since childhood.
The maid worked in near silence, separating Avarine's black hair into neat sections and brushing each one with painstaking care.
The soft, rhythmic strokes of the brush were almost hypnotic.
Avarine stared at her reflection, her green eyes unfocused, lost in thoughts she did not bother to untangle. So absorbed was she in her reverie that she barely registered the faint creak of her bedroom door being pushed open.
It was only when her mother's voice cut through the stillness that she startled back to awareness.
Avarine glanced over her shoulder, quickly schooling her expression into a polite smile.
