In a calm summer morning stood Ezra at her window lost in the world of imagination but sometimes reality hits us hard that we expected as her maid, Mary steps in
"Good morning, young Madame. Master demands your presence."
Ezra was still mentally tracing the stone carving of her imaginary chapel, her attention held captive by the quiet elegance of her fantasy. She did not register the command.
Mary, whose usual worry was now plastered fiercely on her face, approached the window seat. She dared not touch the young mistress, but the urgency in her mission overruled propriety.
A sharp tap on Ezra's forearm jolted her awake.
"Ouch!" Ezra gasped, blinking rapidly as the chapel walls dissolved back into dusty, familiar wallpaper.
"Forgive me, Miss Ezra," Mary whispered, her voice immediately dropping to the cautious register reserved for private talk. "But you are yet in your night-rail, and the hour is already past eight. The Master has been ringing for service since the clock struck the half-hour. You know how he is when he must wait."
The dreamy look dissolved into a shade of resigned irritation. Ezra glanced down at her thin cotton nightgown—a garment scandalous to wear even on the stairs. "Must I really go down now, Mary? The dining room will be stifling."
"Indeed, Miss," Mary insisted, her eyes darting nervously towards the closed door. "It is necessary. And the cook is cross; the breakfast cannot hold much longer. I have laid out your simplest mourning dress—the black challis—upon the bed. Please make haste. It is not wise to vex him before he has taken his coffee."
The sunlight, filtered through the thick curtains, cast stripes across the dust motes dancing in the heavy, still air of the room. Ezra pushed herself off the window seat, the corset of reality tightening around her imagination.
"Very well," Ezra murmured, her tone dry. "Tell my father I shall descend presently, once I have made myself respectable for the scrutiny of his demanding countenance."
Mary dipped a hurried curtsy and slipped out.
Leaving Ezra on speculating whether to just jump her window and run even though she knows she might injure herself or just go to her controlling father