Mirelle stared into the mirror as she brushed down her flaxen hair.
It was already nighttime, and she didn't have any appointments, but that didn't mean she didn't have to keep in style.
She'd rather die than be caught looking ungraceful, no matter the time of day.
Her pursuit of beauty had reached the point where she learned to sleep like a corpse—still and unmoving, unwilling to wrinkle her night garments or ruffle her hair.
Just then, there was a violent banging on her door.
She exhaled sharply.
"Who is it?"
"It's Lirienne. I'm coming in!"
Her younger sister's voice echoed, and before Mirelle could respond, the door swung open.
The room itself could only be described as an extension of Mirelle's vanity.
Velvet curtains of the deepest royal purple framed the windows, overlooking the gardens below.
The large bed was covered in violet silk, its canopy towering above.
