The morning after.

Nobody told the palace a horse was coming. The horse didn't ask.

Shot on Kodak Portra 800 inside a gilded salon that looks like Versailles had a more expensive cousin, The Morning After is the most formal chapter of the series — and somehow the most absurd. A black Friesian stands on a Persian rug under crystal chandeliers, completely unbothered by the Louis XVI chairs, the gold leaf cornicing, or the silk robe standing next to it trying to maintain composure.

The details do the talking. A riding saddle left on a velvet chaise longue, hay scattered across brocade. A silver room service cloche lifted to reveal grass and heirloom carrots — the horse's order, apparently. A gold-backed grooming brush moving through a mane with the same care one might reserve for a Michelin-starred client. And the hoof — muddy, heavy, unashamed — planted squarely on a rug that cost more than most people's apartments.

The woman on the bed holds a telephone receiver and looks like she's been here before. The horse agrees.

Old money has always kept horses. This series just forgot to leave them outside.