Another System?

The morning was quiet.

Too quiet.

I sat on the edge of my circular bed, running a brush through my hair.

Thirty strokes on one side, thirty on the other. Each movement was slow and deliberate. The room around me was exactly as I had left it the night before—everything in its place, not a single thing out of order.

The books on my desk were stacked neatly. The ink bottle and quill were aligned properly on my mahogany desk.

My green scarf, embroidered with tiny butterfly crystals, was folded perfectly on my nightstand.

The ball was over. The attack had happened. But in this room, none of it existed.

A knock at the door broke the silence.

"Princess, the Duke has requested your presence for breakfast."

I took a final glance around the room before reaching for my scarf, wrapping it carefully around my left hand's wrist.

"Understood."