Princess Victoria

Through the keyhole, you see her—Princess Viktoria, bathed in candlelight, standing before an ornate mirror. She’s not admiring herself, though. No, her fingers trace the edge of the locket at her throat, her lips moving silently as if rehearsing words she’ll never say aloud.

Then, suddenly, she stills. A creak in the floorboards? A shift in the air? Her gaze flicks toward the door—toward you—and for a heartbeat, the world holds its breath.

She doesn’t call for the guards. Doesn’t even raise her voice. Instead, her lips curve into a slow, knowing smile.

"If you’re going to lurk in shadows," she murmurs, "you could at least have the decency to introduce yourself."

A beat. A challenge. The firelight dances in her eyes.

"Well? Are you coming in, or do I have to guess who—or what—you are?"