Early one morning, the Illuminata, who still calls her Forest Girl, says, “I’m going on a journey. I’m going to give you the key chain for my wing in the palace. You may use all my rooms, read all my books, touch all my things, and eat whatever you like. There are only three locks, and I’m giving you the three keys that open them. The first is for the door that connects this part of the palace to mine, the second is the key to the room where I keep my jewels, and the third should not be opened under any circumstances. You may explore wherever you wish, but not that last room, which you’ll recognize by its purple door. This is the key. I’m leaving it in your care as well. But I repeat: do not use it, or you will risk losing everything.”

The enormous key is covered in shiny leather, and though it has teeth, it looks strange because it is curved in places. Nothing the Forest Girl has ever seen looks like the key, which hangs from the Illuminata’s chain with two others.

No sooner does she finish giving her instructions than the Illuminata leaves. Without hesitation, the Forest Girl puts a key in the first door and passes through it. Before she has a chance to take in her surroundings, the servants (none of whom she recognizes) offer her sweets and food, then take her into another room where there is a huge table replete with delicacies.

The girl sits at the head of the table. The footmen light the candles. The rooms in this wing of the palace are much darker than her own; heavy curtains cover the windows, blocking out all sunlight.

The first dish is a meat stew. She doesn’t think she recognizes the flavor of the meat, but she likes it very much, and when she finishes, she’s certain that she’s tasted it before. While she eats, they pour her wine, and she tries alcohol for the first time. They offer her vodka, but she declines. They bring more dishes, which she recognizes neither the scent nor the flavor of, and she declines these as well.

The wine animates her. She explores more rooms in the company of numerous servants. She smiles; it’s been a very long time since she has, and she looks different than when she was a girl. She laughs, but it’s not her laugh, it’s hardly audible, there’s something tinny about it, like the workings of a clock or watch. The footmen drag her around, showing her paintings and other objects in the room, telling her about each canvas, showing her how to use the objects—what they do and how to play with them. They’re both servants and teachers.