{Third Person}
The room prepared for the Hunt attire was spacious, almost ceremonious in its arrangement.
Garments were displayed with deliberate care, each one placed as though it carried meaning beyond appearance.
Deep-toned fabrics stretched across polished stands—crimson, obsidian, forest green—stitched with intricate patterns that seemed to hint at strength, rank, and something far more primal than mere fashion.
Amara slowed as she stepped in. Her gaze moved from one outfit to another, taking everything in, but the longer she looked, the more her expression changed.
What had first seemed impressive quickly became uncomfortable.
"These were sent from Her Majesty," Mrs. Woods said gently from beside her.
That single sentence made Amara's shoulders stiffen slightly.
She walked closer to one of the outfits and reached out, brushing her fingers lightly against the fabric. It was soft, but heavy, and the design itself made her pause.
