By the time the lanterns were lit across the eastern wing, Selene felt as though her bones had turned to sand.
Her arms trembled from carrying trays, her knees burned from kneeling on marble, and her scalp throbbed where pins dug into her skull. The perfume of burning incense clung to her skin, sweet and heavy, until it felt like she was breathing through silk.
Every inhale scraped against her lungs. Every exhale tasted faintly of smoke and exhaustion.
And still, the work didn't end.
When Lady Zhen finally retired for the night, Selene was ordered to tidy the chamber. She smoothed out the silken sheets with trembling hands, refilled the porcelain jars with oils that shimmered like honey, swept petals that had fallen from a vase of white chrysanthemums.
Each task demanded precision. Quiet hands. A bowed head. No sound louder than the whisper of her own heartbeat.
Selene moved carefully, the way one might move through a dream that could turn into a nightmare at any second.
Every second felt like walking the edge of a blade.
The System offered no comfort — only its cold, clinical interruptions.
(Notification: Efficiency acceptable. Favorability: +1.)
(Warning: Posture faltering. Correct immediately.)
Selene gritted her teeth and straightened up so fast it made her spine crack.
"What are you, my old PE teacher?" she thought bitterly. "Next you'll tell me I failed breathing. Oh wait—maybe that's next week's update."
Her lips twitched, but she swallowed the laugh before it could escape. Here, laughter was as dangerous as blood.
The sound of her broom brushing the polished floor was the only thing anchoring her. The faint rustle of her robes. The rhythmic flick of her wrist. Over and over, she swept the same corner until her arm went numb.
And then—
a whisper cut through the silence.
Two senior maids stood just beyond the gauzy veil near the corridor, their voices soft but sharp enough to pierce the hush.
"…the Empress grows suspicious," one murmured, her tone low and tight with fear. "If Lady Zhen cannot secure favor soon, she will fall."
Selene's hand froze mid-sweep.
The bristles of the broom barely brushed the floor.
Fall? The word curled inside her chest like a knife twisting slow.
The second maid spoke after a long, trembling pause. Her voice carried the kind of cold understanding only those who'd seen too much could have.
"Then what of us?" she whispered. "We will be discarded alongside her."
Silence followed.
Thick. Suffocating.
The kind of silence that hummed with things left unsaid — heavy, poisonous, alive. Both maids understood what that silence meant. They didn't need to say it aloud.
Selene's stomach twisted so violently she thought she might retch.
Discarded.
Forgotten.
Erased.
The words echoed in her head until they no longer sounded like words — just the dull throb of fear.
She'd been living on borrowed time since the moment she woke in this body, but hearing it spoken out loud — so casually, like gossip over tea — made it real in a way that burned.
They weren't talking about losing status or privilege.
They were talking about obliteration.
In this world, maids and concubines weren't people. They were ornaments. Tools. Pretty little things to be used, then thrown away when they broke.
And Selene… she was already cracked.
Her hands were shaking so badly that the broom's wooden handle rattled. She forced herself to keep sweeping, over and over, brushing the same patch of floor just to keep moving — to pretend she hadn't heard.
If they noticed her listening, it would be her head on the block next.
Her ears burned with the effort of catching every fading word. The whispers dissolved into nothing, and then came the soft sound of footsteps leaving — light as falling petals.
The room went still again.
Selene stood frozen in the silence they left behind.
Her heart pounded so loudly it drowned out everything else.
Her throat felt raw, her palms slick against the broom.
This isn't a palace.
Her chest rose and fell, each breath too shallow, too fast.
It's a game. A rigged one.
A stage where survival depended on how well you pleased the powerful. Where one wrong glance could erase you.
A battlefield disguised in silk and smiles.
Her pulse thudded like a drumbeat of panic as the truth slammed into her.
And then—
(Main Quest Activated: Survive the Palace of Thorns.)
(Sub-Quest: Assist Lady Zhen in gaining favor.)
(Reward: Increased survival rate.)
The words didn't just appear — they seared across her vision, burning hot and cold all at once, like a brand pressed into her mind.
Her knees gave out before she even realized she'd fallen.
The straw mat of her quarters scratched against her palms as she caught herself, trembling so hard she could barely hold her own weight.
Her breaths came in quick, shallow bursts. She tried to breathe, tried to focus, but her body refused to listen.
This isn't a game.
This isn't a dream.
This is survival.
She pressed her hand to her chest, as if she could force her heartbeat to slow, but it only grew louder — faster — echoing against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Her thoughts unraveled, splintering under the weight of it all.
The palace wasn't a home.
It was a gilded cage.
A battlefield.
A nightmare wrapped in silk and candlelight.
And she—
She was trapped right at its very heart.