The biting mid-January air in Elora swirled, blanketing the town in a thick, pristine layer of snow. Celeste, a young woman with a quiet grace, stood by the window, her gaze lost in the playful dance of snowflakes. Outside, a few families enjoyed the winter wonderland, their laughter echoing softly. A sigh escaped her lips, a wistful sound. She longed to join them, to feel the crisp snow beneath her boots, but her grandmother had forbidden it. Important guests were expected.

“I don’t think they’ll come, Grandma. It’s so late,” she mused, turning towards the old woman seated comfortably on the sofa. Brielle, her grandmother, a picture of serene patience, lowered her book and removed her thin spectacles, cleaning them meticulously before settling them back on her nose.

“Don’t worry. They will come,” Brielle assured her, rising from the sofa with a gentle creak of joints. She sighed, a fond, knowing look at her granddaughter. Celeste, even as a grown woman, retained a childlike impatience.

“But I still don’t understand why they would choose me as their son’s bride?” Celeste’s voice was soft, laced with a lingering disbelief. The news had been a shock to her fragile heart.