Mara finished chewing the last piece of cheese as she stepped out of the kitchen, feeling the weight of the food settle in her stomach and bring with it an almost immediate wave of drowsiness.
Her body—now properly fed—was demanding the rest that the excitement of the previous night had stolen from it.
She had explored enough, seen the disaster, and laughed at the nobility's decadence; now, all she wanted was a horizontal surface that wasn't already occupied by three other people.
Eat and sleep. If my previous life had been this simple, I probably wouldn't have died with so much bitterness in my soul, she thought with a lazy smile as she climbed the stairs.
She began walking down the second-floor corridor with a clear goal in mind: finding an empty room.
She had absolutely no intention of returning to the bedroom where she'd woken up.
As luxurious as it was, the idea of waking up surrounded by ten women who would soon start complaining about hangovers, searching for lost clothes, and asking uncomfortable questions sounded utterly exhausting.
Mara preferred solitude—or at least a place where she could stretch out without accidentally kicking a baroness in the face.
Unfortunately, the mansion seemed to have turned into a roadside inn after a cataclysm.
Mara cautiously opened door after door, and what she found only confirmed that the night had taken no prisoners.
In the first room, five women were sprawled across a fur rug, surrounded by feather pillows and empty liquor bottles rolling lazily across the floor.
In the next, the bed was so saturated with bodies that it resembled a human nest; she counted at least six heads of different hair colors poking out from between the silk sheets.
"Alright, looks like nobody wanted to sleep alone last night," she muttered to herself as she closed the door with a soft click. "Is there seriously not a single corner in this mansion that isn't full of women?"
She continued down the side corridors, moving farther away from the lingering noise of the main hall.
She passed rooms where the mess was so extreme that even she hesitated to step inside.
Lace underwear hung from crystal chandeliers, remnants of cream-filled pastries stained velvet divans, and the air was heavy with a dense mixture of sweat, expensive perfume, and stale alcohol.
Mara was starting to get frustrated; her body was practically screaming for a clean bed—and, above all, silence.
Finally, she reached a door at the end of a less-traveled corridor. When she opened it, she froze, surprised by the contrast.
The room was spotless. There were no discarded clothes, no broken glasses, no signs of a pillow war gone wrong.
Mara stepped inside and quickly noticed that while the bed was unmade—clear evidence that someone had slept there—the occupant was already gone.
Perfect. Whoever slept here has already gone out to face their hangover and the outside world, she thought, closing the door behind her and securing the lock with a relieved sigh.
She approached the bed and pressed her hand into the mattress.
There was still a faint trace of warmth left in the sheets, but they were dry and tidy.
She didn't care who the room belonged to, nor whether she was invading the privacy of someone important.
At that moment, the law of the mansion was simple: first come, first served.
Mara slipped out of the borrowed clothing once more, letting it fall carelessly to the floor.
Just a little while longer. I'll sleep until the sun is high, and then I'll look for Alice so we can leave, she promised herself as her eyes finally closed.