The queen's chamber had once been one of the warmest rooms in the royal wing, designed with Seralyne's preferences in every detail. It had wide windows overlooking the inner gardens, pale curtains that glowed in the afternoon light, shelves of old poetry and political histories, low tables set with delicate porcelain, and walls decorated with polished silver mirrors framed in carved wood.
Now, everything that could reflect had been covered. The mirrors were draped in thick cloth from top to bottom. The polished trays had been removed. The tall glass cabinet near the writing desk had been veiled. Even the windows had their curtains partly drawn despite the brightness outside, muting the garden view and reducing the chance of reflections in the glass.
Bowls of still water were gone. The silver-backed brushes from her vanity had been hidden away. What remained was a room that looked like it had been stripped of its own memory, beautiful in shape but wounded in spirit.
