Yet another day, like any of the others. Nothing out of the ordinary happened. When does it ever?

Paperwork, dealing with my naggy aunt, spending the afternoon sitting in Court, listening to the Imperial Imbecile make himself sound important (and everyone else trying to agree with him) and running errands because any of the servants are too damned incompetent to do them. Same routine as always.

I spoke to my aunt about it once, when I'd just been given my post as Glorified Paper Pusher; even then it bothered me. She told me that most of us just grow to be comforted by the mundane repetition. I still haven't.

The pile of papers on my desk never ends. Somehow, though, I couldn't bring myself to do them today. It isn't as though I did something instead of my work. I sat at the desk, just as I do every day, all day. But I looked up a few minutes later, and it was dark outside the palace windows, and nothing was different about my stack of papers. They still sat there, waiting on the stamp. The stack was completely unchanged.

How very like Heaven it was.