The Duchess of Lewis entered her daughter's room with the full force of authority—and deep maternal frustration.
"Reese!" she snapped, arms crossed, eyes narrowing at the girl lying flat on her bed, arms limp at her sides, eyes unmoving.
"Mm?" Reese replied, not looking.
Elaine took a sharp breath. "You've been in this room for days. Are you ill? Possessed? Paralyzed?"
"All of the above, probably."
The Duchess narrowed her eyes. "You haven't eaten breakfast. Again."
"I had two grapes yesterday."
"Two grapes is not a meal."
Reese turned her head slightly. "They were big grapes."
Elaine walked to the edge of the bed, her voice now quiet with concern. "Darling, you're eighteen. At this age, I was married, hosting salons, attending council luncheons. You haven't even been to the piano room in months. Don't you want to… do something with your life?"
Reese blinked slowly. "Not really."
Elaine tried to smile. "Not even a hobby? Reading? Painting?"
"I read the back of a biscuit box yesterday."
"Oh, for heaven's sake—"
The maids, clearly used to this routine, slipped in with towels and a pale yellow dress. One gently pulled Reese up by the shoulders while the other brushed out her hair.
Reese let herself be moved like a limp doll. She yawned mid-combing.
"She's pale as parchment," one maid whispered.
"I heard someone tried to poke her with a fork at dinner to see if she'd move," the other whispered back.
"I did move," Reese murmured. "I blinked."
Once she was dressed and washed, she simply sat there again—still on the bed, eyes distant.
Elaine stared at her, exasperated. "What am I going to do with you?"
"Nothing," Reese replied. "That's the point."
"I worry about you," Elaine said after a pause. "Rome and Red are both settled. Rielle's engagement is next week. And you—"
"I'm thriving," Reese said flatly.
Elaine gave up with a dramatic sigh and left the room, muttering under her breath about curses and noble daughters who refused to be noble.
---
In the Duke's study, Fidel Lewis adjusted his glasses while sorting through correspondence. His aide stood nearby, reading off a checklist.
"…Lady Rielle's engagement procession will begin at noon next week. The carriages are confirmed. The crystal arrangements will arrive on Thursday. And…" the aide hesitated, "…Lady Reese still hasn't been seen past the rose garden."
Fidel's hand froze on the paper. "Still?"
"Yes, Your Grace. She reportedly declined tea, lunch, dinner, and basic conversation."
The Duke sighed and leaned back. "Let her be. If she wants to stay still, she can stay still. She's not hurting anyone."
"Of course, Duke Lewis," the aide said gently. "But… it's been three years."
"I know." Fidel's voice softened. "But if I force her to move, she'll only retreat further."
They both fell into a quiet, understanding sigh.
---
In the garden, sunlight fell soft and golden across Reese's pale face. She sat under a parasol, slouched slightly to the left, one slipper half-on. The maids had bribed her with warm bread just to leave her room.
"Reese!" Rielle chirped, running up to her. "You came outside! This is a miracle. I must write to the temple."
Reese blinked. "Don't exaggerate. It's not like I walked."
"I know. They wheeled you out with a tea cart," Rielle giggled, lifting a fork. "Here, try this lemon tart."
Reese opened her mouth passively, accepting the bite like a sleepy baby bird.
Rielle beamed. "So? Isn't it good?"
"…It's okay. A bit bright. I feel personally attacked by the citrus."
Rielle giggled again, clearly delighted. "You're hilarious."
"I'm unconscious."
"That's part of your charm."
They sat in silence for a while. Rielle poured them both tea.
"My fiancé's name is Claude," Rielle said suddenly. "He's nice. Tall. Smiles too much."
"Ugh. Red flag."
"He brought me flowers, though."
Reese nodded slowly, sipping. "We forgive him."
"I'm a bit nervous," Rielle admitted. "But excited too."
"That's how food poisoning starts."
"I'm glad you're here, Reese. Even if you're mostly asleep." Rielle reached out and squeezed her hand. "It means a lot."
Reese smiled faintly. "I didn't move, though."
"I know. That's why I like you."
---
Reese hadn't always been like this.
Before, she had been radiant. Bubbly. The kind of girl who twirled in ballgowns and laughed too loud. She and Lady Zelda had been inseparable. Best friends, everyone thought.
And maybe that's why it hurt so much.
It was her last party. She remembered the soft blue gown. The carefully styled curls. Zelda's bright smile. Reese had danced with nobles, laughed at jokes, and stood perfectly in the center of it all.
Then her heel caught something.
She fell—right into the refreshment table.
Punch, cakes, melted cream.
Laughter echoed around the room.
Zelda rushed to her side, pretended to help, and whispered:
"You belong here. In the mess. Not above us."
Reese had frozen. Time stopped.
The humiliation was sharp. The betrayal—unbearable.
In the carriage, her maids and knights were concerned but silent. She said nothing. Just stared.
Tears rolled, but she made no sound.
Back at the manor, she ran past her family straight to her room and locked the door.
She cried that night—deep, aching sobs.
But the next morning, she didn't cry.
She just lay in bed. Thinking. Then not thinking.
Weeks passed.
Then she had the thought:
"What if I did nothing?"
No more effort. No more trying to belong.
Doing nothing didn't hurt. It didn't disappoint. It didn't betray.
And so she chose peace.
---
Rumors spread, of course. They painted her as spoiled. Difficult. Unstable.
No one mentioned that Zelda tripped her. Or that it was planned.
Zelda made sure of that.
But Reese didn't correct them.
She didn't move at all.
Her parents didn't know everything—but they knew enough.
The Duchess had always disliked Zelda's too-sweet smile. The Duke silently banned her from the estate.
---
Back in the present, Rielle held Reese's hand in the garden.
"You're really okay, right?" she asked softly.
Reese gave a soft hum. "I'm… peaceful."
"That's enough," Rielle said.
Reese blinked slowly, looking at her little sister's smile.
"…Congratulations, Rielle. On your engagement."
"Thank you," she said, beaming. "Now eat this cookie. I made it myself."
Reese opened her mouth.
The sun was warm. The tea was fine.
And for now, that was enough.
---