In the grand, sun-drenched bridal chamber of the Montgomery estate, light spilled through the high arched windows, casting soft golden hues over the pristine ivory walls. The air smelled faintly of roses, freshly ironed linen, and the delicate perfume of anticipation. Anastasia stood before the gilded mirror, a vision of haunting elegance in a gown that trailed like moonlight behind her. The room, opulent yet intimate, held a sacred hush that could only precede something momentous.
Eleanor, Claudine, and Caroline offered final touches, adjusting her veil, fixing her diamond-encrusted hairpiece, and brushing down the intricate lace of her sleeves. Then, as if guided by an unseen cue, the door creaked open.
The Montgomery Patriarch entered.
