That evening, as the sky bruised into shades of violet and gold, Ruhi sat in her small cottage behind the estate, turning the festival flyer over and over in her hands. The colors had already begun to fade at the corners, but to her, it looked like a promise—of light, of sound, of life beyond marble corridors and whispered orders.

After a long pause, she stood, straightened her uniform, and walked toward Madame Rosa’s quarters. Her steps were hesitant—each one echoing with the risk of what she was about to ask.