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... inside the quiet room, the air thick with the faint scent of rose oil and powder. Celeste sat motionless before the tall mirror, her reflection surrounded by a flurry of movement.
Her snow-white hair—usually tied into a simple braid—had been brushed out until it shimmered like woven silk. Under the soft lamplight, each strand glowed faintly, cascading down her back in smooth, rippling waves. A pair of hands carefully wove a few locks together, pinning them in place with silver ornaments ...
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