The princess woke to the sound of footsteps—firm, purposeful, and entirely unfamiliar. She sat up on her narrow bed, the coarse wool blanket falling from her shoulders. The tower room, dimly lit by the morning sun filtering through the high, narrow window, felt colder than usual.

A tall woman entered, her gray hair pulled into a tight bun, face stern and lined with years of authority. She wore a crisp, dark uniform that contrasted sharply with the dusty, cluttered room. Her eyes scanned the space, taking in the scattered books, the cobwebs in the corners, the peculiar artifacts left behind by the tower's previous occupant.

"This won't do," the woman muttered, more to herself than to the princess. "Not suitable at all."

The princess remained silent, her small frame tense. She clutched the edges of her blanket, watching as the woman moved with calculated precision, inspecting every corner, every shelf.

"Dust everywhere. Unacceptable." She turned sharply toward the door. "Bring in the staff. We have work to do."

Moments later, a flurry of activity erupted. Servants poured into the room, each assigned a task. Some began dusting and sweeping, others carried out boxes filled with odd trinkets and mysterious objects. The air filled with the scent of cleaning agents and the sound of scrubbing brushes.

The princess sat amidst the chaos, feeling invisible. No one acknowledged her presence. No one asked her opinion. They moved around her, transforming her world without a second thought.

She watched helplessly as the peculiar items that had sparked her imagination were taken away. A globe that spun on its own, a mirror that reflected not just one's image but one's thoughts, a collection of stones that glowed faintly in the dark—all gone.

"Please," she finally spoke, her voice barely audible over the commotion. "Can the books stay?"

The head servant paused, turning to look at her for the first time. "Books?"

The princess nodded, pointing to the shelves lined with volumes of all sizes and colors.

The woman considered for a moment. "Reading is a suitable pastime for a young lady. Very well, the books may stay."

Relief washed over the princess, but it was short-lived. The servants began reorganizing the books, stacking them neatly, aligning them by size and color. The once-chaotic shelves, filled with hidden treasures and secrets waiting to be discovered, now looked sterile and uninviting.

As the day wore on, the room transformed. The walls were scrubbed clean, the floors polished to a shine. New furniture was brought in—elegant, but cold. The peculiar charm of the tower was erased, replaced with a pristine, lifeless order.

When the work was done, the servants filed out, leaving the princess alone in the transformed space. She sat on her bed, the only familiar piece left, and looked around. The tower no longer felt like hers. It was a place designed for someone else, someone she was expected to become.

Tears welled in her eyes as she realized the magic she had felt in the tower was gone. The sense of wonder, the possibility of adventure, had been scrubbed away. She was alone, surrounded by order, and utterly powerless.

In the silence, she reached for one of the books, hoping to find a trace of the enchantment that once filled the room. As she opened it, a small, folded piece of parchment slipped out. She unfolded it carefully, revealing a single word written in elegant script: "Remember."

Clutching the note to her chest, the princess vowed to hold onto the memory of the magic, no matter how deeply it was buried beneath the surface.