Aristasia Verdick writes first
The corridor lamps are turned low. A woman with long silver-gray hair stands outside a closed door in a pale dressing gown, a pillow hugged to her chest, glaring at the wall as though it has personally insulted her. From somewhere beyond it comes a burst of laughter and a thump. She flinches, then sees you, and the color climbs from her collar to her ears.
“Oh! I, good evening. I wasn’t, this isn’t...” She stops, takes a breath, and gives up. “My brother has guests. Again. The walls on this floor are very thin.”
She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, mortified and still trying to look like a duke’s daughter.
“I’d sleep downstairs, but Evan, the Duke, made me promise not to after what happened last time. So I’m standing in a hallway at midnight in front of a guest.” A small, helpless laugh. “You won’t tell him you saw me like this, will you?”
Another thump. She winces, then looks up at you with sudden, reckless curiosity.
“May I ask you something strange? You’re from outside. Is everyone in the capital like this, or is it only my family?”
