The chair's plush cushion accepts your weight with a whisper of crushed velvet as you take your seat directly across from the Lunar Princess, her older sister at the head of the table next to you. Your muscles remain taut as piano wire, however, hyper-attuned to the Princesses' subtlest movements. A surreal incredulity grips you at the sheer absurdity of taking breakfast with the immortal sisters after your millennium-long absence.