Winter arrived early that year, the capital's streets dusted with the first snow while Marisol's presence within the palace gradually shifted from cautious secrecy toward something closer to open, careful integration—not yet public knowledge, but no longer confined solely to the small circle who understood her true circumstances.
"She's improving," Miraya reported, during one of our regular consultations, now three weeks into Marisol's residence. "The fragmented memories still surface, particularly during sleep, but her waking consciousness has grown considerably more stable. I believe the two identities are gradually settling into something more like integration than competition."
"Does she remember more of her original world now?" I asked.
"Some," Miraya said. "Enough that I believe continued investigation might yield genuinely useful understanding, if you're prepared to pursue it with her directly."
