‘Um,’ she replied in a small voice, to which her mother said, ‘Well then, you’d better go back to bed.’

Her mother couldn’t bring herself to look at her.

Last month she had not managed to go to the School even once.

There were so many things she wanted to say to her mother – that she wasn’t pretending to be ill, that she didn’t hate the School at all. She felt she needed to open up about all her feelings, and explain them in detail, but she was afraid that if she stayed in her mother’s company any longer, her mother would explode. She didn’t want to hear her mother on the phone calling the School to explain yet another absence, and so, carrying her pain alone, she trudged back upstairs.

Curled up on her bed, she heard the sound of the front door slamming as her mother left for work.

She would always call out a cheery ‘See you later!’ when she left, but today she walked out without a word. Kokoro slowly closed her eyes. In the silence of the empty house, she could hardly breathe.

After a while, she slid downstairs and peeked into the dining room. The usual bento and water bottle were waiting for her on the table.

When she went back upstairs, the rain still pounding on the window and filling the room with its wet smell, the mirror had begun to shine.

The entrance to the castle was open, inviting Kokoro inside. Kokoro found herself recalling the events of the day she’d last been in the castle.

AS SUGGESTED BY THE WOLF Queen, they were all keen to check out their allocated room.

When Kokoro found hers, her jaw dropped.

It was so much more spacious than her own at home: thick plush carpeting, a rolltop desk with carved flower designs, and a wide bed. ‘Wow!’ she squealed. She gave the bed a gentle pat, before perching on its edge. The mattress was soft and welcoming.

On one side was a bay window with velvet curtains and white latticework – a window like an empty birdcage she’d only ever seen in a Western fairy tale.

Up against the wall was a bookcase, a huge one.

Kokoro caught her breath. She thought she caught a whiff of old paper. The musty smell that hit your nostrils whenever you ventured into the far corner of a tiny bookstore, the place where few people ever went. A smell she loved.

The bookcase covered one entire wall and reached almost to the ceiling. As Kokoro sat on her bed contemplating her room, she felt a little dizzy.

Did everyone have a bookcase like hers?

Just then she thought she could hear the tinkle of a piano.

She perked up her ears.

Someone somewhere was hesitantly picking out a tune. It was a piece she recognized. Someone must have a piano in their room.