As she sleepily followed the guard back across the Palace grounds to the royal Vizier's house, her father's house, Dunyazade yawned. She could see a hint of the pink tinge of sunrise over the walls. Morning was always bittersweet for her. While it was a great relief that the Sultan had chosen to let Shahrazade live another day (and, by extension, let Dunyazade live as well), it also meant that the fear and stress remained for at least another day.
The guards turned Dunyazade over to her nurse and left. Wordlessly, the two women went into the Vizier's house and made their way up to the women's rooms on the second floor. Dunyazade struggled to keep her eyes open as her nurse helped her out of the silks and jewels she was compelled to wear to the palace every night. The nurse looked almost as weary as her young charge, although she got considerably more sleep since she didn't have to spend nights with the Sultan.
Finally, dressed only in simple linen shifts, the women laid down to get a few precious hours of sleep. A tear ran down Dunyazade's cheek as she lay in the semi-dark room (the blankets they had hung over the windows only kept so much sunlight out). She could only afford a couple of hours of sleep before she had to resume the search for more stories - ever more stories! She refused to spend time even considering what would happen if they ran out. That couldn't be allowed to happen. She would dig through every book in the palace library and her nurse and various other attendants would scour the marketplace in search of new storytellers. They did this every day, and still they needed more stories.
The weariness from nightly vigils listening to her sister weave tale after tale and the stress of living in constant fear for their lives finally pulled her eyelids closed. Dunyazade let dreamless sleep pull her under. Another night was done and she had this brief respite to rest before she had to begin working on ensuring that her sister could get them through another one.