"..." Astrid descended from the opulent carriage, her graceful figure moving with purpose as she ventured alone into the silent abode of her captor.
With the keen sensitivity granted by her divine sense, she discerned her target's presence within—a figure luxuriating over a steaming cup of tea, accompanied only by a solitary servant, an elderly man who stood vigilantly by his side in reverent silence.
The atmosphere within the chamber was stifling, heavy with an unspoken tension that hung between them like a shroud.
Astrid observed their quiet interaction, noting the lack of conversation or movement as they both seemed engrossed in something before them—a painting, perhaps, that held their collective attention.
As her gaze fell upon the artwork that adorned the room, Astrid's expression morphed into one of shock and disbelief.
There, depicted in vivid detail, was a woman—a woman of breathtaking beauty captured in the throes of passion.