In the early morning, Margret woke to the sound of classical music drifting through the air. She stepped onto the balcony and saw people living their ordinary lives—some dancing, some laughing, others selling their goods in the market square.
She smiled, lifted her face toward the sky, and whispered,
"Good morning, world."
Downstairs, she found Laury cooking. His sleeves were rolled up, his movements calm and precise, his hair perfectly in place. She paused, watching him, a soft smile forming on her lips.
What if life could really be like this? she wondered.
She walked slowly—very slowly—then suddenly jumped forward to scare him.
Laury turned, startled. She laughed.
"What a childish thing," she said lightly, grabbing an apple and taking a bite.
"So," she added, chewing, "let's go out."
"Yes," he replied, amused. "After you eat your meal."
"Oh," she smiled, "thank you for caring, Mister James."
She kept talking excitedly about the market stalls outside, her happiness obvious. Laury watched her with a gentle smile—he knew she was happy. When she finally sat and ate what he gave her, they went out together.
Margret danced with the people—not as a queen, but as a human. She laughed, tasted food from every stall, children handed her flowers, and everyone smiled at her warmth. Laury stood nearby, arms crossed, watching her with quiet pride he refused to name.
Suddenly, a woman screamed.
Laury rushed forward and caught her as she collapsed into his arms. Margret followed quickly—the woman was pregnant. A man ran toward them, panicked.
"My wife—please—she can't wait for a doctor!"
Margret didn't hesitate. She went inside with two women, tied her hair into an updo, and took charge. Laury, the husband, and the crowd waited outside, tense and silent.
Then—a cry.
A baby.
Joy exploded everywhere. Someone called the husband inside, and when he saw his child, tears filled his eyes. He turned to Laury and said,
"Without your wife, my wife would be dead."
Laury blinked. "But—"
"Thank you," the man added firmly.
Margret stepped outside. She looked at Laury and said quietly,
"It seems no matter how much I try to run from responsibility, it always finds me."
She put on her gloves, looped her arm through his, and they walked away together.
As they walked, they laughed—free, light. Then Margret stopped.
She noticed a crowd gathered around a man wearing a necklace. Hanging from it was a key.
Her smile faded into focus.
She looked at Laury, then at the massive walls enclosing the Dark City.
"Hey, walls," she said softly, lifting her chin. "We're coming."
Laury frowned slightly. "Is that… a key?"
"Yes," she said. "I'm sure. I saw it in the painting."
He grabbed her hand, and they ran after the men—straight into a loud, crowded bar filled with drunk laughter. The men were big, loud, and intimidating.
"We'll need a miracle," Laury muttered.
Margret laughed nervously. "This is my first time in a place like this."
"That's not something to be proud of."
"Well," she said, "I was thinking of ordering drinks—"
Before she could finish, Laury lifted her easily and set her outside.
"You're staying here."
She laughed so hard she could barely breathe. "Put me down—I'm laughing!"
Inside, Laury approached the man with the necklace.
"Where did you get that key?"
The man shrugged. "Dark City. Paid someone for it. Don't even know what it's for."
Laury turned to Margret. "So… now we need it."
She tilted her head. "Then let's play."
"Play?"
"Arm wrestling."
Laury stared at her. "You're serious?"
"It's the only way."
She approached the bar owner—a handsome man—and told Laury to step back.
"Trust me," she whispered.
She smiled at the men. "Bring me your strongest man."
"And why?" the owner asked.
"If my man wins, we get the key. If you win, you keep it."
"And what do we get?"
"Whatever you want."
Laury didn't like the look in the man's eyes.
Soon, Laury sat across from the strongest man in the bar.
"I can't wait to see your face when you lose in front of your girl," the man sneered.
Laury met his gaze calmly.
"You'll never know."
Their hands slammed together.
At first, it looked bad. Margret's heart raced. Then—suddenly—Laury flipped the man's hand down.
Victory.
Margret ran to him, hugging him tightly. She grabbed the key, laughing in relief.
Then the handsome man froze.
"Wait."
He grabbed a painting from the wall. His eyes moved between the image… and Margret.
"You look like the Queen," he said slowly. "There's a reward for her."
Silence fell.
Then he laughed. "Nah. It's not you."
Noise returned. Breathing returned.
Laury grabbed Margret's hand and pulled her outside.
She stopped, turned back, and saw the handsome man bow his head slightly. He knew.
Margret smiled, ran back, and hugged him. He froze—then hugged her back.
She kissed the man with the necklace on the cheek. He froze completely.
Laury laughed. "You're lucky he didn't say anything."
She stepped closer to Laury, close enough for him to feel her warmth.
"Thank you… for not betraying me."
She kissed his cheek softly.
"Only to thank you."
He laughed quietly.
"Yes," he said. "I like it better that way."