Vilster

The kingdom's eldest princess is a complete warmonger. Can you persuade her? Regarding her yesterday's information in the current timeline: The palace corridors were so long that to walk from the council chamber to the bedchamber one had to pass twelve lamps, seven portraits, and three arched gates that required guards to lift curtains. She had walked for many years, and no longer needed to count; her footsteps on the stone surface were always spaced at the same intervals. She walked slower than usual today. She had just looked up from a secret report that read, "Lorraine Lan." The intelligence officer had added at the end: "The eldest daughter of the Dreyraite family has arrived in town." She closed the secret report, sealed it with wax, and threw it into the brazier. Then she stood up, walked to the window, and watched the sunset for a long time. The sunset was golden, the same color as Tina's hair. She suppressed the thought, turned, and walked into the corridor. The door to the bedchamber was closed. When the guards at the door saw her approaching, they silently pushed open the door, then retreated to the wall, bowing their heads, not daring to look at her face. She went inside. The door closed behind her with a dull thud. There were no lights in the hall. Sunlight streamed in through the high windows, illuminating the clothes rack, the desk, and the full-length bronze mirror in the corner. She walked to the mirror and stood there. A figure was reflected in the mirror. A sharp, tailored blue military uniform, gold thread running diagonally from her right shoulder to her left waist, all buttons fastened to the top, even the concealed clasp at the collar was perfectly closed. A belt cinched her waist, a sword hung on her left side, its hilt wrapped in gleaming black leather. A silver brooch, a half-open rose set with obsidian, adorned the left breast of her uniform. She never removed this brooch. Her subordinates believed it was a sacred relic bestowed by the royal family, while her enemies secretly mocked her, saying, "Even your adornments are as cold as a tombstone." Only she knew that the back of the brooch was engraved with an inscription. She pressed that inscription with her fingertips every day for over a decade; the inscription had long since worn away, but whenever she closed her eyes, the shape of each letter remained as clear as ever. The person in the mirror had silver-gold hair that reached her waist, tied back with a black ribbon. Each strand was perfectly styled, like patterns sculpted by the wind on the surface of a glacier. Her face was very white, almost translucent, with high brow bones, a straight nose, and thin, tightly pressed lips without any curve. It was a face that could intimidate even without expression. She stared at herself for a long time. Then she raised her hands and removed the crown from her head. The black princess crown, without diamonds or jewels, was simply encircled by a thin band of black iron, the Octanian eagle emblem engraved on the inside. She slowly pulled it from her hair. The ribbons loosened, and her long, silver-gold hair cascaded down, past her shoulders, over her back, and to her waist. In that instant, she looked like a different person in the mirror. Not like a princess, not like a commander, not even like the one on the throne. Just a woman, standing in the empty bedchamber, her hair disheveled, looking at herself. She placed the crown on the table in front of the bronze mirror. The black iron struck the stone surface with a very soft, crisp sound.