DAY 8 OF THE YEAR OF EDMOND

I married Princess Edmondina today. She never argued with me, she wanted me to be happy, she was a true loyal friend! We got married in the chapel. Braesin was the best man, Hallstein gave a speech. It should have been the happiest day of my life.

So why did it feel wrong?

I pondered this question for days. First, I wondered why my happiness did not feel real. Had I not earned it? There was something deep within me that said otherwise.

Was my suffering truly Toth’s fault? I had been so sure of it, but now I could not help but wonder. Did he do this to me, or did I?

A nightmare consumed me that night. Was it a nightmare? I am not sure. When I retired to my royal chambers, Queen Edmondina was missing and atop my bed laid a newspaper. The sight of the thing struck me like a knife, for I had not seen one of these since… since my past life.

Bold black letters ran across the page. ‘National Gallery accepts Toth portrait thought lost for decades, donor remains unknown.’

Until then, my memory had been a patchwork quilt held together by mere threads. This newspaper stitched it up.

I remembered when I first found the Dame de la Chambre. I discovered its magic, a tool unlike any other. After a month I had grown bored (this made me laugh) of retirement in my manor. After all, why shouldn’t I utilize the Dame de la Chambre’s full potential?

September 18th, 1875. After a day had passed inside the painting, I left the Chambre and awoke inside the collections chamber of the National Gallery surrounded by all their newly acquired works of art. It was perfect! No guards, plenty of time, and enough unprotected paintings to have made me a millionaire literally overnight.

I started with a Turner Claude, then moved on to some Carraccis. I took no preferences, save to those which might have had the most value. Fifteen pieces was the limit of my strength. An obstacle, however, presented itself when a light shone through the door. I abandoned the paintings and hid.

The guard stepped in, a rotund man in a red uniform with gold buttons too tight for his waistline. The light of his chamberstick flickered over the rows of shelves, his boots echoing on the floor. It was the only sound, save for my shuddering breath.

“Is someone there?” he beckoned, noticing the random assortment of paintings hastily flung aside. Soon I’d be caught. My only escape was the Dame de la Chambre. If I could disappear inside, I would be safe. But it was across the room.

As the guard turned away, I leapt! Out from the paintings, across the aisle, into another. The man heard me and gave chase, but I was faster. I made it to the Dame de la Chambre, turned it around, looked into her eyes and--

All was quiet.

I awoke in the Chambre, my body no longer spent from the chase. But then, a shatter of glass of such a volume to rend reality in two. All myself and my mind and memories felt ripped to shreds like canvas under shattered glass. My ears tore, my mind broke—then it was over.

What had happened? In the Chambre there were no windows nor doors to see the outside. I could have flipped the painting and returned to reality, but that guard may still have been there. I decided to wait, just a few minutes, before grabbing the painting from the wall and turning it around and…

And nothing happened.

I tried again. Nothing.
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I know now why I dreamt this. It was my greed that trapped me in the Chambre. I tried to steal art, so eternal damnation was my punishment.
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From Day 1 I had blamed Christen Toth for my misfortune when, to find true fault, I needed only look in a mirror.