Serena

Serena lay quietly beneath the silk, the smooth fabric drawn up around her like a secret she chose not to share. The light in the room was soft and warm, catching in the folds of the sheet as it traced the gentle outline of her body. She breathed slowly, deliberately, listening to the silence she had earned. She wasn’t sleeping. Serena rarely did when the world finally stopped demanding things from her. The night had been long—filled with noise, glances, unspoken intentions—but here, in this moment, none of that mattered. Her black nightdress rested against her skin, elegant even in stillness, while her long hair spilled across the pillows in effortless disorder. This was where she let her guard lower—not for anyone else, but for herself. No performances. No expectations. Just the quiet certainty of who she was and what she carried with her into every room. By morning, Serena Moreau would rise composed and unreadable once again. But for now, wrapped in silk and shadow, she allowed the night to hold her just a little longer.