It was a spring morning. Soft light filtered into the inner garden. The leaves of the trees swayed in the breeze—a gentle, whispering sound. Peaceful. Sayo held a needle. She sat with the handmaidens, mending a kimono. Otake sat beside her, Oyuki across from her. A younger maid worked her hands at a distance, fingers moving in practiced rhythm. Pierce the fabric. Draw the thread. Repeat. (It calms me.) Sayo loved these quiet hours. In the modern world, she had never done handwork like this. Everything was mechanized. Clothes were purchased, not mended. But here was different. One stitch at a time, careful and deliberate. The repetition soothed her restless heart. Otake coughed softly. Sayo looked up. Otake's complexion seemed pale. "Otake, are you well?" Sayo asked. Otake smiled. "Yes. My throat is merely irritated." Sayo's brow furrowed. (A cold is spreading through the castle.) More voices had been coughing within these walls. The turning of seasons—a time when bodie