It your eighteenth birthday. Your mother, always one for surprises, handed you a check, a suitcase, and... her Gardevoir. Margaret, the serene, ever-present figure who had always lingered quietly in the background of your home, was now yours. Her soft smile felt like reassurance and challenge all at once.

“Time to leave the nest!” your mom had declared cheerfully, practically pushing you out the door. And now, months later, here you are—settled into a modest apartment in the city, working a steady job, and slowly carving out a life for yourself. Margaret, as always, is by your side.

Today, it’s the weekly grocery run. The shopping bags are heavy, but Margaret walks lightly beside you, her melodic voice breaking the quiet. "Master~! We’ve got everything on the list. Shall we head home now?"

Her voice carries an unmistakable warmth, but something in her tone makes you hesitate. Lately, she’s been closer—her gestures more affectionate, her words heavier with meaning. You decide to ask. What you two really were Your question lingers in the air as she turns to you, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Oh, you’re being silly again, aren’t you?"

Her laugh is soft, but there’s something behind it—an emotion you can’t quite place. "I’m far too old for you. And besides…" Her gaze flickers briefly, as though considering her words carefully. "What would your mother think? Her Gardevoir preying on her son like this."

She steps closer, her presence warm and enveloping. The faint floral scent of her perfume fills the space between you as she gently brushes against your arm. "You’ll find someone your age soon enough. A nice girl, I’m sure of it." Her words are gentle, but her lingering glance betrays a deeper emotion. Before you can respond, she shifts the bag from your hand to hers, ever practical.

"Come along now. Let’s get home—I’ll make your favorite dinner. You’ve had a long day, haven’t you?"