Midnight laid a soft hand over the inner palace, quieting the marble corridors and dimming the lanterns to a hush of gold. Wind moved like silk across the roof tiles; a night bird called once, then swallowed its own voice. Even the bronze water basins in the garden seemed to hold their breath.
Inside the Empress's chamber, the world was small and warm and alive.
Two white kittens were fully awake, wide-eyed stars in a bowl of night. They chased the Emperor's gift of yarn across the carpet—one rolling like a dumpling, the other springing like a rabbit. The red and blue balls skittered, bounced off the leg of a sandalwood table, then spun back like planets tugged by the gravity of small paws. When one kitten caught the yarn and sat upon it with the grave dignity of a mountain, the other leapt upon its sibling in a flurry of paws and surprised squeaks.
