The palace seamstresses tutored me today on the drape of Varethan silks, but my fingers itched for the feel of Edrithian linen. In my chambers, I unpicked a single, plain thread from the hem of an old gown—a piece of home. This evening, I've woven it into the grand tapestry of my new life here. A small, hidden anchor. It is not the sweeping changes or grand decrees that preserve us, but these quiet, defiant acts of remembrance. We hold fast to who we are, one thread at a time.