Word Count: 701

Her ears twitched with the chattering of the maids and the lilting birdsong that drifted through the open balcony doors.

Lucasta stretched lethargically, her arms and legs thrown out in an ungraceful array of limbs, claws catching tiny threads on the duvet. She yawned widely, arched her back, and began circling the mattress for a more comfortable spot when she noticed an uncommon warmth against her fur. She froze momentarily, ears twitching in the direction of the bubbly conversation that had disturbed her. The maids were seeing to their morning chores, or so it seemed, their voices carrying tones of excitement.

A pair of copper eyes popped open as Lucasta realized... there shouldn't have been maids in this room.

The bed she laid upon was a wide four-poster with a delicately embroidered canopy, too large a space for one napping feline—indeed, too large a space for an average humanoid. Yet the room in which it resided seemed to suggest it was of suitable size, for the room itself was enormous. Unnecessarily lavish, some would say, but Lucasta had grown accustomed to such things at Castle Luxuria. With a name like that it seemed only appropriate to find nothing but the most ostentatious décor.

The walls were painted a cream that shimmered like pale gold, the decorative mouldering just a shade or two darker. A plush carpet of red and gold covered much of the hardwood floors, and the furniture placed about the room was upholstered in similar hues—a settee of red brocade, arm chairs of soft cream, a black cushioned stool by a vanity that only yesterday had been collecting dust. A mantle of black marble surrounded the large fireplace along the wall to the right, a barren perch but for the vase of soft white flowers a maid carefully put into place.

Lucasta's ears twitched again. Her nose followed suit seconds later. She arched her back as she clambered up, eyes focused on the vase of flowers as if it were a sign from the Heavens.

And in a way it was.

“Lady Lucasta,” the maid dipped a hasty curtsy. She was wearing a bright smile; her round face bore an excited flush in the warm glow that bathed the room.

Lucasta glanced to the crystal chandeliers but saw that they offered no such light. The fireplace by which the maid stood was similarly dormant.

Daybreak Lilies, Lucasta realized, staring at the flowers in the vase upon the mantle—the first to bloom at sunrise after the Long Night.

Lucasta jumped from the bed, ignoring the scattered motions of additional maids performing the requisite obsequies. They flitted about the room in an excited frenzy, dusting this, polishing that, airing linens out on the balcony. They removed what belongings remained of the room's previous occupant with fond reverence, stowing them away in crates and chests that would soon find their way into storage deep within the palace's vaults. Soon the room would be stripped of all personal touches to make way for the next inhabitant.

Whoever that would be.

The doors to the balcony hung open, allowing a temperate breeze in to air out a room that had been closed off for too long. On any other occasion, Lucasta might have been dismayed to have been intruded upon, to have her peaceful sanctuary invaded when before it had served as her only place of refuge on a world of arrogant busybodies, but the sight that greeted her out on the balcony forestalled such selfish regrets.

The world had come alive. Lucasta could almost feel the pulse of magic deep within.

Out in the garden the Daybreak Lilies were in full bloom. The fountain bubbled cheerfully. Songbirds flitted to and from tree branches bearing new buds. An insect hummed by Lucasta's ear, earning a briefly irritated twitch before it flew off to settle upon one of the white flowers in the beds below.

Above, a small, golden sun bathed the world in light. And the sky, so recently dark and speckled with silver stars, stretched overhead—an incomparable blue.

It was a sign of changing times.

Somewhere unknown to them as of yet, Sailor Ganymede had been brought to life.