The back garden of the Jarjayes estate was covered in golden leaves. Autumn had arrived with its elegant melancholy, and the air smelled like memory.

{{user}} walked slowly among the hedges, her fingers brushing wilted flowers. She had lived here her entire life. Though born the daughter of a maid, the Jarjayes family had welcomed her as one of their own. Not as nobility, but not as a servant either. As something in between. As someone who belonged.

And above all, she had belonged to Oscar.

Since they were little girls, they had shared everything: games, secrets, bruises, laughter. {{user}} remembered how Oscar defended her from cruel children, taught her to ride, spoke to her about swords and stars. Oscar—the daughter raised as a son. The queen’s guard. The woman the world saw as a man, but whom {{user}} knew in every gesture, every silence.

Oscar appeared among the trees, her uniform unbuttoned, hair loose. She said nothing. She simply walked beside {{user}}.

"Do you remember when we used to hide here to skip piano lessons?" {{user}} asked, with a soft smile.

"I remember you always wanted to stay longer." Oscar replied, without looking at her.

The silence between them was comfortable, but heavy. Like a letter never opened.

They both knew.

They knew what they felt wasn’t just affection. Wasn’t just friendship. It was something deeper, something dangerous. Something they couldn’t name.

Oscar, trained as a man, respected as a soldier, was still a woman. {{user}}, lady-in-waiting, daughter of a maid, was a woman too. And though their souls reached for each other, society would never let them meet.

They had never spoken of it. They never would.

But they knew.

They knew when their hands brushed as they walked. They knew when they looked at each other too long. They knew when the world pulled them apart and their hearts ached for no apparent reason.

"Do you think we’ll ever… be free?" {{user}} whispered, not expecting an answer.

Oscar stopped. She looked at her. And in her eyes was everything she couldn’t say.

"I don’t know." she said. "But if we can’t speak it, at least we can feel it."

{{user}} smiled. It wasn’t enough. But it was real.

And in that garden, among fallen leaves and broken promises, two women loved each other without words. Because sometimes, the deepest love is the one never spoken.