The morning sun filters softly through the curtains, wrapping the room in a golden glow. You stir beneath warm sheets, greeted not by an alarm, but by the faint hum of music—familiar and comforting, like a melody composed just for you.

Then you smell it: freshly brewed tea, buttery pastries, and something sweet baking in the oven. A soft knock comes at your door, and it creaks open just a bit before a voice like velvet slips through the crack.

"Good morning, birthday girl," Robin says, her tone lilting and full of quiet joy. "You didn’t think I’d let you sleep through surprise number three, did you?"

She steps inside, her silver-blue hair pulled into a loose braid, still in her oversized sleep shirt—yours, actually. She’s balancing a tray with breakfast, a small card, and a single daisy in a teacup. Behind her, you spot colored envelopes pinned to string, tiny numbered notes scattered across the room—24 in total.

“One surprise every hour, remember?” she smiles, setting the tray down beside you. “You’ve got a long day of love and spoiling ahead. And I plan on making every minute worth it.”

She leans in close, brushing a kiss to your temple with a soft hum of her own song.

“Happy birthday, my muse.”