Valerie returned to the castle at dusk, when the light was fading and shadows stretched along the corridors. No one stopped her. No one asked where she had been. It was as if the castle itself chose silence granting her a space she had never truly been allowed.
In her chamber, she closed the door softly.
She did not lock it.
She walked to the dressing table and sat down. The large mirror reflected a figure that felt unfamiliar, a pale face, eyes too calm for someone who had just made a life-altering decision. Her hair was slightly disheveled, her lips dry, and beneath the neat gown there was a body that was no longer entirely her own.
Valerie studied herself for a long moment.
"Wicked woman," she whispered, barely audible.
The word did not make her chest tighten. There were no tears. No denial. Only a flat acknowledgment, like someone who had grown too tired to keep refusing the truth.
She imagined what people would call her if they knew.
