[b]Adila![/b]

Princess Azora Howl, greatest witch of her family, the wicked scion of Oberon, wipes her nose on her sleeve and makes a gross sniffling noise. “Okay,” she says, and puffs out her chest. “Okay. I’ll decide what to do with you all after I get the Caduceus.” Don’t worry. Even as a dog, you can recognize when someone is just saying something in order to have something to say. She turns and marches down the hall to speak with Kazelia.

As you watch her go, down at the other end of the hall, there is spontaneous creation: something from nothing. It’s subtle, the sort of thing you might only notice if you were a very good puppy, yes you are. It’s an hourglass, perched neatly next to the Caduceus.

It’s very small. You don’t have much time until it runs out, and then... game over? Difficulty spike? Confetti? Who knows!

***

[b]Mittens![/b]

When you hear that silly little voice, it’s like it’s coming from down the hall. You have to perk up your triangles to be able to make out any of it.

How much of it do you make out?

***

[b]Kathelia![/b]

You probably weren’t expecting Azora to march down the hall, were you? She’s sniffling and trying desperately to cling to a little bit of her dignity, which breaks completely when she asks: “Bring my kitten back!”

But... there’s no sign. No sound. You wouldn’t put it past Eupheria to actively scramble attempts to get anything through the door; it’s what you would do, if you were in her position. And you’re likely running out of time fast. Even if you manage to get Alina out, Eupheria’s not going to sit around and let you rescue everyone...

***

[b]Eupheria![/b]

Everything is perfect.

Hyperborea is yours, now, and everyone agrees that it’s an improvement! You know this because of the massive carnival taking place all around you. Glass pinwheels make delightful whistling sounds that cut through the tumult of everyone in Hyperborea celebrating the most special, most beloved queen in Hyperborea’s history. You are mobbed by commoners and princesses alike asking for your autograph; with a wave of your hand, you create Autonomous Autograph Ants, which dutifully take to the air and, buzzing, use their quill-heads to sign book after book, not to mention foreheads and articles of clothing.

You hug your laughing great-granddaughters close; they’re all wearing masks you made for them, snarling cats and dragons. They love you. Everyone loves you. Even Adila loves you, and is happy to be on all fours underneath you, locked into place with glass chains for being a naughty girl. It’s all right, though. After the carnival ends, you’ll forgive her. She just needs to be reminded of her place, that’s all.

“Eupheria! Eupheria! Eupheria!”

You start crying, and your heart hammers huge and warm in your chest. They’re finally all happy. You did it. You made everybody happy, and they all love you. Even Adila.

You did it.