The reception hall of the Blackharth mansion was a cavernous space of cold marble and towering arched ceilings. The suffocating atmosphere within the room felt as though it had been physically compressed by the arrival of the five elders.
Not a single person in the hall dared to breathe too loudly, fearing that even a minor movement might draw the collective wrath of the family council. The elderly woman's cruel words lingered in the stagnant air, enough to cut through the heavy stillness.
She sat upon a plush velvet sofa with the poise of a monarch, her silk gown rustling softly as she shifted her weight. Her wrinkled lips were curled into a faint, mocking smile that radiated a deep and public disdain.
"So," she repeated, her voice carrying a venomous edge that echoed against the high, gilded walls. "The absolute disgrace of our family has finally decided to show her face in our presence."
