Morning came wrapped in movement. Trunks were tied, baskets counted twice, and the guest wing buzzed with the sound of hurried goodbyes.
Rowan had arranged a sturdy palace carriage for them, dark wood polished and horses already stamping with impatience.
Lady Beatrice thanked Rowan properly, hands folded, voice respectful. Cinderella curtsied. Drizella tried to curtsy, tripped a little, then laughed it off.
While everyone was busy, Drizella lingered.
She tugged at Rowan's sleeve when no one was looking.
"You'll... you'll miss me, right?" she asked, trying to sound careless and failing.
Rowan raised a brow, clearly amused. "The palace will certainly be quite without you."
Her face lit up. "That means yes."
"That means," he said calmly, "don't break anything while you're gone."
Drizella nodded solemnly, then hurried away, smiling to herself.
Anastasia stood near the carriage steps, scanning the courtyard again and again. Guards passed. Servants crossed. A pair of maids argued over a strap. No orange hair. No familiar careless walk. No Kit.
She told herself not to be disappointed.
He was probably busy. Probably reassigned. Probably safe.
Still, her chest felt tight.
Unseen by her, the prince stood farther back, half in shadow near the archway.
Today he wore his proper colors, his posture straight, his name heavy on his shoulders again. He watched Anastasia tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, watched her look one last time toward the palace doors.
He wanted to step forward.
He wanted to call her name, to wave, to make a promise that she will come back soon.
But he couldn't.
Rowan could stand openly at the carriage's side. He could tease. He could say goodbye.
I can only watch, the prince thought.
The carriage door closed. Wheels turned. Horses moved.
Anastasia didn't look back.
And the prince stood still long after the carriage disappeared from sight.
* * *
The road home stretched warm and dusty, lined with trees that whispered in the wind. At first, the carriage ride felt light. Drizella kept leaning out of the window until Lady Beatrice scolded her. Cinderella hummed softly, watching the fields pass. Anastasia sat quietly, hands folded, thoughts drifting between palace stone and garden steps.

Then the carriage slowed.
The horses snorted and stamped, refusing to move forward. The driver climbed down, muttering under his breath. Ahead, the narrow road dipped into a shallow stream. Recent rain had swollen it just enough to turn the ground into thick mud.
"We'll be stuck if we try to cross," the driver said, poking the earth with his boot. "The wheels will sink."
Lady Beatrice frowned. "Can we turn back?"
"No space," he replied. "And the sun will set before I find another path."
Drizella groaned. "Are we sleeping in the carriage?"
Cinderella looked worried but calm, as always. "Maybe we can wait until the water lowers?"
Anastasia leaned forward, eyes fixed on the muddy stretch. It wasn't deep. Just soft. Too soft for thin wheels.
Her mind clicked into motion.
"What if," she said carefully, "we make the ground harder?"
Everyone turned to her.
"Harder?" Lady Beatrice repeated.
Anastasia nodded. "The problem isn't the water. It's the soft mud. If we spread something flat over it, the wheels won't sink."
The driver blinked. "Like planks?"
"We don't have planks," Drizella said.
Anastasia glanced at the carriage. "But we have baggage boards. The wooden bottoms from the trunks."
The driver's eyes widened. "Those could work."
Within minutes, the trunks were opened. The wooden bases were slid out and placed carefully over the mud, side by side, making a rough path. The driver guided the horses slowly, wheels rolling over the boards instead of sinking.
The carriage crossed the muddy patch without trouble.
Cinderella clasped her hands. "That was clever!"
Drizella stared at Anastasia. "Since when do you think like... that?"
Lady Beatrice studied her daughter with a thoughtful frown. "Where did you learn this?"
Anastasia's heart jumped. She shrugged lightly. "I just... imagined what would happen if the wheels spread their weight. It seemed obvious."
Drizella squinted. "You're strange lately."
Anastasia laughed it off. "I've always been strange."
The road smoothed out after that, and soon familiar rooftops appeared through the trees. Their house came into view, looking smaller than the palace, but warmer somehow.
The carriage stopped.
All of them froze.
The front gate, which had always leaned slightly to the left, stood straight. The garden was neat. Fresh flowers bloomed where weeds used to grow. And the house itself... it looked repaired.
Cinderella whispered, "Did someone come here?"
Lady Beatrice stepped down slowly, eyes wide. "I didn't arrange anything."
Anastasia felt a strange mix of relief and unease.
Something had changed.
And none of them knew why.
The surprise waited politely for them inside the gate.
A middle-aged man stepped out from the side of the house, wiping his hands on a cloth. He looked a little nervous, a little proud. "Madam Beatrice?" he asked.
Lady Beatrice stiffened. "Yes. Who are you?"
"My name is Elias," he said quickly. "I was sent to take care of the house while you were away. Repairs. Cleaning. The garden."
"Sent by whom?" Drizella asked, already suspicious.
Elias hesitated, then answered carefully, "By... the palace. By order of the prince."
Silence fell.
Anastasia's eyes widened. Lady Beatrice looked shocked. Drizella nearly dropped her bag. Cinderella felt her heart stumble, then steady itself again.
Of course. Anastasia didn't ask how or why. She already knew whose idea this was.
"That was... generous," Lady Beatrice finally said.
Elias smiled. "I've finished the outside work. Inside still needs attention. Old house. Stubborn dust."
They stepped in together.
The moment the door closed, the illusion broke.
The house looked better from outside, but inside it was chaos. Cobwebs clung to the ceiling. Furniture was covered in sheets. The air smelled stale. One window refused to open, and a bucket sat under a leaky corner of the roof.
Drizella groaned. "I thought it was perfect."
Elias scratched his head. "I focused on safety first. Didn't get to the rest."
Lady Beatrice rolled up her sleeves. "Then we clean. All of us."
They worked side by side.
Cinderella swept quietly, humming as dust clouds rose. Drizella wiped shelves and complained every five minutes. Beatrice investigate what could be saved and what needed fixing.
Anastasia stood in the middle of the room, eyes scanning, brain switching gears.
"Wait," she said. "Don't scrub the floor yet."
Everyone paused.
"If you clean dry dust with water first, it turns into mud," she explained.
"We should sweep and shake everything outside before using water."
Drizella blinked. "That... makes sense."
They followed her advice, and cleaning became faster.
Later, they struggled with the stuck window. Elias pushed. Drizella pulled. Nothing.
Anastasia looked at the swollen wooden frame. "The wood expanded from moisture," she said.
"We need to dry it, not force it."
She placed a warm iron near the edge, moving it slowly, careful not to burn the wood. After a while, the window creaked and slid open.
Cinderella clapped softly. "Anastasia, you're amazing."
Anastasia smiled, but inside, memories stirred. Classrooms. Teachers. Simple lessons about pressure, moisture, and order. Things she never thought she would use in another life.
When they found the leak, Anastasia placed a slanted bowl under it instead of a straight bucket. "This way the water flows to one side and doesn't splash back," she said.
Lady Beatrice watched her closely.
"You've learned many useful things."
Anastasia shrugged. "I just... think a lot."
By sunset, the house looked alive again. Clean floors. Open windows. Light pouring in. They sat together on the floor, tired and dusty, sharing bread and laughter.
Anastasia leaned against the wall, heart quiet but full.
Somewhere far away, a prince had remembered this house.
And she had filled it with warmth again, using pieces of a life no one else could see.
Night settled gently over the house, carrying the smell of soap, old wood, and tired bodies. After everyone drifted to their rooms, Anastasia stood alone in hers, a single candle lighting the familiar walls. The room looked almost the same as the day she had first woken up here.
Almost.
She rested her hand on the window frame and let her thoughts wander back.
That first morning had been terror. Strange ceiling. Strange body. Strange name. She had panicked quietly, afraid that if she screamed, the world would shatter.
She remembered staring at the mirror for a long time, opening and closing her eyes, wondering where her real life had gone and whether it would ever come back for her.
Now the fear was gone.
In its place sat something heavier.
What if I return?
The thought slipped in without permission.
If she disappeared one day, what would happen to this world? To Cinderella's fragile path? To Drizella's clumsy laughter? To the guard who had looked at her like she was not a mistake?
And the original Anastasia.
Was she waiting somewhere? Trapped? Forgotten? Or had their lives crossed only once, like two threads brushing before moving on?
Anastasia hugged her arms, a chill crawling up her spine.
No answers came.
She blew out a slow breath and shook her head. Thinking like this only led to shadows. This world had given her weight, purpose, and consequences.
Running away into "what if" would not protect anyone.
Not Cinderella.
Not herself.
She sat on the bed and looked toward the dark window, toward the distant palace she could not see from here. The story was still moving. The shoe. The search. The choices that would follow.
"I'll stay," she whispered to the quiet room. "At least until the story ends."
The candle flickered once.
Anastasia lay down, closing her eyes, and waited for the next chapter to begin.
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