As the moon bathed the ornate chamber in its silvery glow, Lyra stood by the window, her night dress cascading around her like a waterfall of ivory silk.
Nervous anticipation fluttered in her chest as she awaited her husband's arrival, her heart racing with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.
As the door creaked open, Lyra turned to greet her husband, her eyes searching his face for the warmth she had longed for. But what she found was a chilling mask of indifference, a coldness that sent a shiver down her spine.
His gaze, devoid of emotion, lingered on Lyra for a fleeting moment before turning away.
Lyra swallowed the lump in her throat, her palms clammy with apprehension. This was not how she had imagined their first encounter as husband and wife.
Where was the tenderness, the affection that was meant to accompany such a sacred moment?
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