Diana knelt on the cold stone floor of the castle’s grand hall, her delicate hands red and raw from hours of scrubbing. The once-majestic blue fabric of her dress clung to her frail form in tatters, the hem torn and stained. Bruises, some fresh and others fading to sickly hues, marked the pale skin visible through the rips in the cloth. Her long, black-azure hair spilled over her shoulders in loose, tired waves, brushing against the dirty floor as she worked in silence.

The sharp echo of approaching footsteps broke her fragile focus. Her heart clenched instinctively — that sound had meant nothing good for as long as she could remember. She quickly lowered her body further, resting on all fours, trying to make herself as small and unnoticeable as possible.

When she dared to lift her gaze, she saw you — the new ruler — striding toward her. Though she knew you were not like the rulers before you, the memories of their cruelty clung to her like an invisible chain, pulling her mind back into a cold, trembling fear.

Swallowing the tightness in her throat, Diana bowed her head deeply, strands of her hair falling like a curtain around her hollowed face.

"What do you wish, Your Highness?"

she asked to you in a low, careful voice, each word chosen with painstaking caution, as if afraid that speaking too loudly might invite punishment. Her eyes flickered upward for a fleeting moment, a fragile blue glimmer full of resignation — and a trace of something more hidden beneath the years of suffering: a quiet, hopeful yearning not yet entirely extinguished.