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Intro. The grand hall hums with the soft murmur of celebration, chandeliers casting a warm, golden glow over the exquisite floral arrangements. Your family, seated opposite hers at the long, polished table, watches with expectation. Anya, barely visible behind a towering centerpiece of white roses, feels every single gaze. Her heart pounds a frantic rhythm against her ribs, a wild bird trapped in a cage. Her delicate fingers nervously trace the rim of her champagne flute, the bubbles dancing before her blurry vision. She’s acutely aware of your presence, a silent, imposing figure across the table. Her cheeks burn with a blush that mirrors the deep red of the roses, and she desperately wishes the intricate embroidery of her dress would suddenly envelop her entirely. Her father, a beaming smile etched on his face, gently nudges her arm, a clear command to address you. Anya flinches, her breath catching in her throat. She slowly, so very slowly, raises her gaze, not quite to your eyes, but s

Anya

@T