The washroom in this old, unrenovated house still used the most antiquated gas lamps. Though the maid had polished the lampshade until it glead, the light it cast was still a murky, yellow glow.
Two identical Miss Windsors stood locked in an embrace, engaged in a conversation of the heart.
"The ache in your heart is a good sign," Queen Windsor said. "It ans you're real."
"But sotis it hurts so much."
"If you don't have so underlying heart condition, then it simply ans you need to find soone to soothe it for you."
Miss Windsor abruptly pulled away from the Queen, her eyes flashing with anger at the little joke. But the Queen wasn't offended. She simply smiled at Miss Windsor, her expression like that of soone looking at a naive young relative. Her eyes reflected the other's image, a vision of herself, yet a self she could never be:
"Don't make any more mistakes."
Her form began to turn ethereal, fading away.
"You're leaving?"
Miss Windsor asked in a panic, reaching out to embrace her again, but her hands passed straight through the Queen's shimring form.
"Silly girl, I'll always be with you, as long as you need ."
"Can you appear at any ti?"
"Think about it. As long as you wish to see , you can. Oh, but rember this—next ti, try not to take your anger out on the mirror."
And then she was gone, vanished completely. Miss Windsor stared at her hands, bewildered. She couldn't be sure if what had just transpired was rely the onset of a ntal illness. She rembered Jenkins ntioning things like "schizophrenia" before.
The thought of him brought her back to the conversation she'd just had with herself.
"I am always ."
She folded her arms across her chest and summoned the motes of light that represented her power. A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she looked into the mirror:
"Perhaps I really am the most fortunate one."
"Silly girl."
The Miss Windsor in the mirror replied, her voice gentle.
Jenkins, of course, didn't believe for a second that Miss Windsor had gone to the washroom to touch up her makeup. He doubted she'd gone for any of the washroom's intended purposes at all.
He knew she needed a mont to compose herself, so he didn't disturb her. Instead, he remained on the sofa, exchanging intelligence with Magic Miss. It was through this conversation that he learned Magic Miss suspected this world's Queen Windsor was not a level-eight demigod, but had already reached level nine—what was considered the absolute limit for a mortal.
"No, she's definitely level eight," Jenkins told her with certainty.
He was, of course, worried about Miss Windsor, but his confidence in his ability to ensure her safety, no matter the circumstances, allowed him to remain calmly in the living room.
He had also shared his concerns with Magic Miss, but she had reassured him:
"My employer is an exceptionally strong woman. She won't be so easily defeated by herself."
Throughout their conversation, Queen Windsor simply listened with a faint smile, offering no opinion of her own.
Miss Windsor returned from the washroom shortly after. Jenkins glanced at his pocket watch; she had been gone for less than ten minutes. During her absence, they had heard so unusual noises coming from that direction—a few of Miss Windsor's remarks had been particularly loud—but when she reappeared, all three of them pretended to have heard nothing.
Instead of rejoining Magic Miss, Miss Windsor sat down directly to Jenkins's left. With Queen Windsor to his right, the writer was now seated between them. Her choice of position was a clear statent of her current attitude—the very one Jenkins had been dreading.
The ladies' assessnt of him had been spot on; he was utterly inept at handling these kinds of situations. It wasn't that he was weak—after all, he had stated his position quite clearly in the hallway just a few days ago—but Miss Windsor had deftly deflected him with her taphor about the "stars in the sky."
This latest venture into the Mysterious Realm had acted as a catalyst for her emotions, and Jenkins could already anticipate what was coming.
"Jenkins, you have to agree to her terms," Miss Windsor began, not giving him a chance to interrupt. "We need her."
"I've been thinking. Once you inherit the throne, you'll have absolutely no experience governing. I'll have to handle most matters, but I'm too young myself. We certainly can't ask the princess of the Stuart family from the northern kingdom for help. That's why we need Her Majesty. We need her to help you manage the affairs of state."
Her tone had returned to normal. Once she had sorted through her own chaotic thoughts and found her clarity, Miss Windsor was once again the capable, decisive woman he knew:
"Otherwise, are you planning to force Her Majesty to abdicate this weekend, only to ask her to stay on and help run the country afterward?"
"Yes, you need . Very much," Queen Windsor chid in, joining Miss Windsor in looking at Jenkins.
"So, Mr. Williams, what is your opinion?"
"We need you," Jenkins nodded. "That much is clear."
"But..."
"There are no buts," Miss Windsor cut in, her voice firm. "It's just as I've said before. Be realistic, Jenkins. If you and I have no official relationship, on what grounds could you possibly entrust the majority of the nation's affairs to ?"
"Because I trust you."
"And why should I help you?"
Miss Windsor demanded. Magic Miss watched with great satisfaction as a look of stunned surprise spread across the face of Mr. Candle—Jenkins Williams.
"Well..."
"By helping you, I could gain power. But do you really think I'm the kind of woman who is consud by a lust for power?"
"Of course not."
"Then give a reason to help you."
"...To build a better Fidektri Kingdom together."
At that, everyone but Jenkins burst out laughing, though Miss Windsor's laugh was tinged with exasperation. Jenkins couldn't fathom what had happened in the washroom to transform her so completely. While he had to admit she was even more captivating this way, her relentless pressure was making him uneasy.
"Let's be direct, Jenkins Redemptor Williams."
Using his full na signaled that this was either a very formal conversation or that she was truly furious:
"I will help you win the throne. I will help you govern the country. But I need a proper title. This isn't just about you and ; it's a matter of state. Without a legitimate position, how am I to explain my actions? What will people think of ? The King's close—but strictly platonic—female friend who holds the majority of his power? Oh, Jenkins. I am a lady of noble birth. I cannot allow people to speak of that way."
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