The room shimmered faintly under the timid flicker of an old yellow bulb—its glow spilling like thread-thin rays across faded velvet curtains and cracked mirrors. It looked less like a room, more like the forgotten corner of a royal palace that time had chosen to abandon.

In that soft, almost ghostly light, a little girl sat on her swing, her small legs dangling, a book resting in her lap. The world outside may have been cruel, but here—amid the slow rhythm of the creaking swing—she found her own fairytale. Her giggle, tender and innocent, filled the air like a melody, wrapping the room in a fleeting illusion of peace.