In the warm glow of candlelight, the bubbling broth simmered with rising steam, enveloping Amalia's face in a soft haze, blurring her features with an ethereal, almost otherworldly grace.
"If my sister still doesn't understand my feelings, then I'll express them in another way..."
Beneath the table, two delicate, silk-clad ankles tightened, entwining firmly around Astrid's long, smooth legs like polished obsidian. The tip of her loafer tapped faintly against the table leg, a nearly inaudible sound, unnoticed and unimportant to anyone else.
"The emotions I hold for Sister are the same as those Miss Lyra has for you."
"Or perhaps... slightly different in subtle ways. But fundamentally, they remain the spontaneous admiration and love one independent being holds for another."
Finishing her words, Amalia locked eyes with Astrid across the table, fingers tensing unconsciously. Her tone was sincere.
"It's the same kind of relationship as the late emperor and the empress."
