When even that tree failed to offer her solace, Selene had finally returned to her chamber, where silence enveloped the room like a heavy shroud, palpable in the air, almost tangible in its stillness. The moon, in her full and resplendent glory, bathed the room in silvery light that filtered through the delicate curtains, which fluttered softly under the breath of an invisible breeze. Shadows, elongated and ethereal, danced slowly across the majestic furniture.

On the wall before her hung an old framed portrait, its beauty untouched by time. It depicted her family, standing on a rocky outcrop overlooking green meadows in a world that no longer existed. Beside them, the goddess Lunaris played a harp with delicate hands. Selene, barely a child then, stood surrounded by those blissfully unaware of the calamity soon to come. Her eyes, so innocent and carefree, mirrored a peace that, upon reflection, now felt almost foreign to her.

Her face tightened into a furrowed brow and lips pressed so tightly they ached. On nights like that, the urge to tear that painting off the wall and throw it into the fire burned within her.

Her fingers brushed against the necklace from the primordial temple of Lunaris, cold and familiar, and an overwhelming weight descended upon her. Two thousand years. That was the time she had spent asleep, while the world had shifted around her, unaware of her eternal slumber, trapped in a dream that never ended.

When Verethis awakened her, he wasn’t himself anymore. Not only had his entire body changed but so had he. He was more rigid, crueler, and stronger than she had ever believed possible. She could feel it when he hugged her the first time, the way innocent blood now lingered on his hands. Back then, she was still a child, one who didn’t understand the reality of what had happened, and she found herself in an unrecognizable place, a world she could no longer trust, where no one remained who knew or understood her. It was as though everything she had loved had vanished beneath the ruins of a fallen empire.

It was horrible and difficult to adapt to a world completely different from her own, a world where alchemy and the alchemists did not exist, where her very existence was a secret she was forbidden to share, and the gods among whom she had once walked now seemed like mere tales and beautiful legends.

A world where she would never be free, where the memories of her family faded like a distant echo, and sorrow wrapped around her like a suffocating cloak. A world where she was alone. Truly alone.

Selene, weary and repelled by the relentless flood of memories, turned her gaze away, her expression hardening as if to shield herself from the weight of the past. With a measured hand, she reached for the delicate bell perched on the bedside table —a relic of fine craftsmanship. She gave it a single, deliberate chime.

Scarcely had the sound faded when the doors of her chamber swung open, admitting a cadre of impeccably trained maids. Their movements were as precise as clockwork, their uniforms pressed to perfection and their expressions neutral yet attentive.

"Our Lady, how may we be of service?"

"I would like a bath," she declared, stretching out one arm. The tips of her fingers immediately came to rest in the attentive palm of one of the maids, who curtsied slightly in acknowledgment. Two others nodded their heads in silence and departed swiftly to ready the bath.

It was not long before they returned, bearing the scented linens and robes, each adorned with intricate embroidery upon the finest silk. As she entered her bathing chambers, the air soon grew heavy with the delicate scent of oils, flowers and herbs, mingling with the soft hiss of steaming water.

The maids moved with the grace of those trained in the highest standards of service, surrounding Selene with an almost ceremonial reverence. Before her, the vast marble tub stretched out like a gleaming pool, its surface still rippling with the soft murmurs of the water, as if the bath itself whispered in anticipation of her arrival.

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Selene, slender and fragile, slipped gracefully into the water. Though not short in stature, her figure was that of a delicate flower, a white lily swaying in the breeze. Her skin shimmered beneath the soft glow of the lamps, a glow that seemed to merge with the tranquility of the water. The maids began to strip her of her garments with reverent gentleness, allowing the discarded fabric to fall in soft folds at the tub’s edge.

"Each day, I give thanks for the privilege of serving our sweet lady," one of the maids whispered, her voice thick with admiration.

Selene hummed a soft, disinterested laugh, her eyes fluttering shut as the water surrounded her, the warmth of it lulling her for a brief moment of respite. But even as the soft ripples caressed her skin, the words of the maid lingered in her mind, souring the stillness. Our sweet lady. It meant nothing. The words were as distant and hollow as the world outside these walls.

While one maid gently scrubbed her body with a sponge, the other carefully worked through her hair, her touch so tender it almost bordered on reverence. Selene’s mane, so fine and lustrous, shimmered under the soft light like the finest silk. She felt a cold emptiness in her chest at the sight. It was all too much, too fake. She wanted to feel something—anything—but the adoration bestowed upon her seemed to slip right through her like water, leaving no trace.

"I too. We are the envy of the entire city,” the other one responded.

"I am quite sure there are more admirable things to envy than attending to me," Selene murmured, her voice tinged with irony.

"Not at all! Though our lady may not believe it, being here is a true honour. After all, no one else has the privilege of serving the treasure of Atlas," the maid continued, her tone brimming with pride.

Selene opened her eyes, looking at the ceiling and hoping the heat of the water would soothe the tightening in her chest, though the familiar sense of disconnection only grew stronger. She didn’t need their adulation, nor did it make her feel anything other than hollow.

The other maid, massaging fragrant oil into her hair, leaned in closer, her voice barely a whisper. "They've even offered me a fortune for a single lock of her hair."

At the mention of it, Selene’s grip on the edge of the marble tub tightened ever so slightly, her knuckles turning white beneath the water's surface. The idea of being reduced to nothing more than an object to be coveted or whispered about grated against her more than she cared to admit. What use was any of this? she thought bitterly. It was all just a game of rumors and false worship, a constant reminder that, despite it all, she had no one. Not really. Not in any way that mattered.

"A fortune, hm?" Selene inquired; her voice soft yet laced with subtle disdain.

"Indeed, miss. When Lord Verethis learned of it, he was truly upset. He moved all of the city to track down those who had made such an offer," the maid replied, her tone full of reverence.

"Why was I never informed?" Selene’s voice held a trace of curiosity, but her eyes remained distant in the ceilling

"He forbade us from speaking of it. But some time has passed..." she whispered, glancing at Selene with lingering doubt, her hands searching for fruit to peel and serve.

"Hmmm..." Selene hummed thoughtfully. "Do you think there are still people who remain interested in such things?"

"Of course! There always will be."

"Our lady is, after all, a legend," the maid added proudly.

"A legend, huh?" Selene's lips curled with irony. "How quaint."

"Some even say our lady doesn't exist at all. A bunch of madmen..." the maid continued.

Selene's thoughts drifted, and she almost smiled. In truth, they weren't wrong. Outside these walls, she truly didn’t exist.

She turned to the maid, her gaze piercing. "Would you care to prove that I am real?"

“W-what?”

"Would you like a lock of my hair?" Selene inquired, her voice casual, though there was a certain sharpness beneath the words.

The maid recoiled, her face registering shock at the very thought of such a request from the young lady of the Thalorian household. However, Selene’s expression remained impassive. On the contrary, with a swift and unexpected motion, she reached for one of the knives laid next to the fruit, and with a steady hand, she pressed it to a lock of her hair, making her maids gasp in shock.

But before she could start cutting it, Nimea entered the room, her gaze icy, her face expressionless as she observed her sister-in-law with a mixture of concern and restraint.

“Selene, please do not,” Nimea’s voice was calm, yet firm. She walked gracefully toward the bathtub, her steps deliberate, and extended a hand toward Selene, silently requesting the knife. “Soon, you will need to look truly beautiful.”

Selene glanced up at her, her fingers still lightly gripping the knife. “Why?” she asked, her tone flat, as if questioning the absurdity of it all. “In here, it doesn’t matter how I look.”

Nimea paused for a moment, her face softening with a hint of understanding, but she pressed on with urgency. “Not anymore.” Selene’s brow furrowed in confusion as she looked at her sister-in-law, her fingers still poised over her hair. “Verethis has agreed to present you to society for your upcoming birthday.”