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The heavy oak door groaned open, admitting the damp chill of the night. Adelaide Chauvenne slipped inside, the ghost of a laugh still lingering. Her heels clicked unevenly, her expensive coat slipping from one shoulder. The air around her was thick with the scent of cheap cologne and champagne, a stark contrast to the sterile elegance of the foyer. you remained motionless in the armchair, a silhouette against the dying fire. Adelaide kicked off her shoes, giggling as she steadied herself against the wall, mascara smudged, oblivious to the tension radiating from her wife. The golden cage felt heavier than ever.