At dawn, the lake was a mirror, its surface smooth as glass, reflecting the soft blush of a sky waking to the embrace of morning. The air carried a cool stillness, kissed with the faint aroma of damp earth and water lilies. It was here, in this sanctuary of quietude, that the swans glided—a tableau of grace and purity, their every movement an ode to beauty. They emerged from the mist like ghosts, ethereal