"What the hell did you make my daughter wear?" Lady Cicelia's voice echoed through the chamber, carrying an unmistakable tone of fury and protectiveness. The tension in the air was palpable, every word laden with emotion.
As the head lady stammered a response, attempting to justify the situation, Lady Cicelia's patience wore thin. "Mistake? My daughter is on the ground with a torn cloth. Tell me exactly what is a mistake?" Her voice boomed with fierce indignation, the weight of a mother's concern reverberating in every syllable.
A sense of impending calamity loomed as Lady Cicelia drew her sword, the glint of steel flashing as it emerged from its sheath. The room held its breath, an air of impending conflict thickening.
Amidst the tension, a voice, calm but resolute, interjected, diffusing the escalating tension. "Mother, relax. It's this dress, not the lady's fault," came the daughter's voice, holding up the dress as evidence.
Lady Cicelia's gaze shifted, scrutinizing the garment in her daughter's hands. The weight of realization settled upon her as she understood the gravity of the situation. Her eyes darted back to the head lady, demanding an explanation.
The room fell into a hushed reverence as everyone, including the head lady and her entourage, knelt before Lady Cicelia, acknowledging her authority and awaiting her judgment.
"Please forgive me, Lady Cicelia," she pleaded, her voice trembling with remorse. "It's our greed that brought us here."
The head lady's words quivered in the air, heavy with the weight of confession. Her hands shook as she recounted their tale, each word filled with remorse and a plea for absolution.
"The dress was our first and last unique creation," she continued, her voice laced with regret. "Every other thing we made turned out to be a disaster."
With a pang of despair, she revealed the heart-wrenching truth—the queen's command to cease production of the only dress design their hands could weave into existence. A dress that held a touch of magic, spun from threads of unparalleled beauty, now forbidden by decree.
"We didn't have a choice," she implored, her voice quivering. "To sell it secretly to those who lack knowledge of such garments."
As the head lady spoke, her words carried the weight of a desperate resolve mingled with sorrow. She fell to Mother's feet.
Mother looked at me as she was waiting for my response. If i consider this from a third person's perspective as far as I know mother, Given the gravity of the situation and the violation of the queen's decree, Lady Cicelia, aka mother would first seek clarity. She would inquire further into how the dress ended up on me, discerning if it was a deliberate act or a mistake.
If the head lady admitted fault or oversight in allowing the dress to reach me, her daughter, the punishment might involve a strict warning and temporary suspension of the boutique's operations. This would serve as a clear message while allowing for rectification.
However, if evidence suggested intentional defiance of the queen's mandate or any endangerment caused to Lady Cicelia's daughter, the repercussions could be more severe. It might involve a fine, a longer suspension, or even closure of the boutique, emphasizing the seriousness of the transgression.
Throughout this process, Lady Cicelia's ultimate goal would be to ensure justice without causing undue harm. Her decision would aim to both uphold the queen's decree and maintain fairness, offering a chance for redemption while ensuring accountability.
Keeping everything aside, I, the daughter of Lady Cicelia, the next head of the Ebdout house, the 2nd prestigious family should take a decision that is not too severe for doing a creating yet severe for breaking the queen's decree.
"Mother, Breaking a royal member's word is a punishable offense whatever the reason be but as they are already begging on their knees. Let this matter not reach the queen's ears but as a punishment, the boutique should be suspended for 6 months. A fine should submitted as a tax for all the dresses sold to the unknowledgeable people about this dress to the government. Taking it to the queen may end it to more severe punishment which might not be a wise choice."
Time seemed to stretch, the weight of the moment palpable in the charged atmosphere. Lady Cicelia's gaze, usually unwavering, flickered with the turmoil of internal deliberation. Her brow furrowed as she wrestled with the gravity of the situation, her mind navigating the intricate web of consequences and fairness.
Her lips parted hesitantly as if carefully selecting each word. The room held a collective breath, waiting for the pronouncement that would decide the fate of the boutique and its head lady.
After what felt like an eternity, the words found their way past Lady Cicelia's lips.
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