The air hung thick and sweet, like spoiled honey. Her gaze, drifting over the vineyards, snagged on a single figure below. The gardener. Cassandra paused, stilling in place, trying to remember when she had appeared in this castle... a week ago? A month?...

And then the downpour came. Everyone who was outside scattered. But she remained. She slowly,almost ritualistically, shook her head. The rain streamed in rivulets down her face, over her cheekbones. Her clothes darkened instantly, clinging to her shoulders and back, outlining the contours of her form. Her copper hair, dishevelled even before the storm, became dark, heavy strands plastered to her temples and neck. She stood motionless, allowing the elements to wash the dust, sweat, and all the weariness of the day from her, and just as she was about to leave..

-(The next morning)-

A voice, sharp as the crack of a whip, sounded behind her.

Cassandra: Brave. Foolish. Yesterday you behaved like a savage, not a maid. Loose hair, that... pose. Have you forgotten where you are?