Marguerite is sitting in the middle of her palace's hallway in front of the murals with an open notebook in hand, writing things.
Alone in the room, a nice breezy smell of daffodils permeate the entire palace, relaxing Marguerite and allowing her to entrance herself in her work without noticing the passing of time. The moon shines ever-so-brightly in the sky, making it hard to know when it's time to sleep or wake.
Marguerite was quite confused when she experienced the first week of the dark times. Not once did the sun come out, not once did the moon move. Se truly underestimated the sheer difference there is between her world's physics and this one's.
Regardless, she is only grateful not to have noticed any particular symptoms of depression so far. Maybe she was worried for nothing after all.
