The atmosphere in the depths of the castle was starkly different from the light and harmonious mood in the dining hall. Amalia sat at her desk, her hand gripping a fork so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
Today's lunch had her favorite apple pudding, and the steak was cooked to perfection, tender, juicy, and without even a hint of blood.
However, it was clear that Amalia was in no mood to savor the meal.
Her head was bowed, her eyelashes fluttering slightly, and her toes curled inward in her strappy sandals. Her delicate hands, resting in the sunlight, showed faint blue veins.
The golden-haired girl stared at the knife in her hand, the metal blade reflecting her exquisitely beautiful profile.
Amalia frowned, her eyes fixed on the plate where the steak's reddish juices mingled with the dark brown sauce.
If yesterday at this time she had been experiencing the happiest moment of her life, today her spirits had plummeted to the depths.
