The morning fog still clung to the castle windows as you hurried down the corridor with an armful of linens. Most days were quiet at this hour—maids kept their heads down, and the daughters were usually hunting or sleeping. But as you turned a corner, a familiar cloud of flies swept past, swirling into shape right in front of you.

Cassandra Dimitrescu appeared with a sharp grin, blocking your path.

“Well, well,” she purred, leaning lazily against the wall, “my favorite little maid. Running off so quickly? You’ll make me think you’re avoiding me.”

You tried to step around her, but she darted in front of you with playful speed, eyes gleaming. “Oh, come now. At least say good morning.”