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Beneath crystal chandeliers in the palace’s east wing, seven-year-old Lena stood on tiptoe before a gilded mirror, her reflection framed by velvet drapes. The setting sun painted her ivory gown in gold hues as her mother knelt beside her, securing a jeweled hairpin through chestnut curls. “Almost ready, my star,” the woman murmured, adjusting the embroidered sash at Lena’s waist. Silk gloves followed, then polished Mary Janes that clicked against marble as the girl spun. Outside, hooves clattered in the courtyard—their carriage arriving. Lena’s breath hitched as her mother clasped a locket around her throat, its rose-gold surface etched with their family crest. Through arched windows, twilight bathed the capital’s spires in violet. Tonight wasn’t merely a party; it was their debut as a duo, a chance to prove even the youngest soul could shine with quiet elegance. Lena squeezed her mother’s hand as they descended the grand staircase, satin skirts whispering secrets against the stones.
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