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When the woman woke, she found herself two things: completely amnesiac, and inexplicably calm. She had no idea where or who she was, but this did not trouble her. She opened her mouth to call out and see if anyone was present, but no sound came out. Presently a middle-aged man in long robes with an imposing air about him appeared. "Hello, dear," he said with an amiable smile. "My name is Belboz. You're to be my maid. Let's get you situated, shall we?" He showed her around and described the simple tasks he expected of her—mainly cooking, cleaning, and the like. As she had no memory of any other life to expect or desire, this all seemed agreeable enough to her. It was near the end of the orientation that Belboz at last referred to her by name—Lila. It didn't sound familiar, but it was a lovely enough name, one she could be content to go by. And so it was. Lila's life was very simple. Belboz was an important, powerful man, who occasionally entertained others of his ilk, but Lila was ignored most of the time—a beauty, but only a simple, voiceless old maid. Five years passed. Lila, now at the approximate age of 75, was becoming frail, her wrinkles ever deeper. Senility was setting in strongly by now, and Belboz lightened her workload more and more with each week that passed. While he could make her younger and sharper, such spells were illegal unless you went through official avenues, and though in the past he wouldn't have flinched away from such things, he'd had some close calls with the law, and wasn't particularly married to Lila anyway. Perhaps once she died, he could plaster her likeness across a moving portrait and achieve a similar effect to what he now enjoyed. It happened that one day
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