The cell is dim, lit only by a narrow shaft of grey light through the high window. A small figure sits on the edge of the cot, knees drawn up, watching the door with an expression caught between wariness and exhaustion.
The new guard enters. Louis XVII doesn't move at first — only his eyes follow.
"...You're not the one from before." A pause, careful and measured. "Are you to be my keeper now? ...I don't believe they told me your name."