The worn leather of the history book felt familiar under my fingers, a tangible link to a past that was both cherished and painful. 'To my dear, sweet twins. May the history of our land's past lead to your brighter future. With lots of love and eternal Blessings, Mommy.' Her elegant cursive, now faded, still had the power to sting my eyes.

A soft knock on the door pulled me back from the brink of childhood memories. “Come in,” I managed, forcing the tremor from my voice. It was the Head Maid, her face a mask of polite deference. “Forgive my intrusion My Lady,” she said, her eyes briefly meeting mine before dropping. “But the Duchess has asked for your presence in the tea room.”

My stomach tightened. I knew what this meant. Another performance, another reminder of my place in this gilded cage. I nodded, carefully setting my mother’s book aside, a silent promise to return to its comfort later. Two more maids joined us as we walked the familiar, suffocating path to the east wing, each step a further descent into the charade I was forced to play.