She had asked for the library this morning. That alone was strange.

My lady rarely asked for anything. She rarely asked for anyone. Yet here I was, guiding her down the corridor, a precise half-step behind.

Her footsteps were steady. Almost light. They had once dragged, soft and reluctant, as though she wished to vanish into the marble. Today, she walked as if the air itself buoyed her forward.

The hall was unchanged: pale walls, dark trim, lanterns burning amber, polished floors without a speck of dust. Cold, expensive silence. She looked at it as though she’d never seen it before.

Two maids passed with trays. My lady smiled—small, but unmistakable. The younger faltered, bowed too fast, and fled as if guilty. My lady had never smiled at staff. Not once. They had learned not to look at her.

At the stair, I asked, “Garden path or east corridor?” My tone was even, as it always was.

“The garden,” she said, voice lighter than memory. I adjusted course.

Outside, she crouched by the shrubs, eyes intent on the leaves. “Waxy… shallow roots,” she murmured. The old my lady would not have spared them a glance. This one examined them like a scholar.

The hem of her dress brushed soil. A faint stain. My hand twitched before I pulled it back. She did not notice. She always noticed. Cleanliness had been her one constant—her armor of dignity.

We passed a gardener trimming a hedge. My lady stepped too close, close enough to startle him. He froze, bracing for reproach. Instead she praised his cuts, spoke softly of the soil and shade. His shoulders eased.

When he asked if she liked plants, she answered simply: “I love them.”

He straightened, pride warming his face.

Later, at the Firon’s bloom, she bent low, studied the pale flowers, and offered advice—more light, mulch, a hedge against the wind. Practical, sound. The gardener nodded at once. And when she thanked him, I nearly faltered. She had never thanked a servant. She had hardly acknowledged them at all.

We moved on. Each time her gaze caught green, her eyes lit. For a moment, she looked alive.

“The library is this way, my lady,” I said at last.

She nodded. But instead of drifting ahead, she walked beside me. She did not seem to notice the space she closed.

I did. And I would keep watching.