In the bronze mirror inlaid with gold and jade, a face that became increasingly pale against the backdrop of complex reds was reflected.
Shen Qingci sat quietly in front of the dressing table, his eyes falling on the stranger in the mirror who seemed to be bound by colorful clothes and silk.
Tomorrow is her wedding day.
The boudoir where she had lived for sixteen years was now transformed into a gorgeous prison.
As far as the eye can see, there are dense and dazzling red silks hanging from the beams and piled on the ground. The air is filled with the unique and slightly raw textile smell of new silk and satin, mixed with the sweet and nauseating aroma of soothing incense that has been deliberately aggravated.
On her wrists and ankles, on the inside of the seemingly decorative red gold rings, if you look closely, you can see the engraved runes. They are getting slightly hot with her breathing, suppressing the flow of meager spiritual power in her body, bringing a stagnant and heavy sense of oppression.
"Miss, it's time to try on the wedding dress."
