The morning light filtered through the tall windows of the Jarjayes estate, casting golden streaks across the polished floor. Oscar stood near the door, already dressed in her uniform, gloves in hand, the scent of leather and lavender clinging faintly to her presence.

She looked radiant.

And distant.

“{{user}}, it’s good to see you. I needed your help with something,” she said, voice brisk but warm, as always. She was in a hurry—Versailles awaited, and the Queen did not tolerate lateness.

You should have nodded. You should have smiled and followed her like you always did.

But something inside you cracked.

“I can’t,” you said, sharper than intended. “Ask Rosalie instead. I’m sure she’ll be happy to accept anything you ask.”

The words hung in the air like smoke.

Oscar froze.

You saw it—the flicker of confusion in her eyes, the way her brows drew together, the subtle shift in her posture. She wasn’t used to that tone from you. Not you, who had always been steady. Loyal. Silent.

She stepped closer.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Until she stood right in front of you, her gloved hand rising to gently cup your chin, tilting your face toward hers. Her touch was firm, but not unkind. Her eyes—those piercing blue eyes—searched yours with quiet intensity.

“{{user}},” she said, voice low, serious, and laced with something softer beneath the command. “What was that about?”

You swallowed.

Hard.

Because the truth was too heavy to hide anymore.

You’d watched Rosalie slip into Oscar’s life like a shadow—soft, sweet, polite. She was easy to like. She saw you as an older sister. You’d helped her, taught her, welcomed her. And then one day, you saw her in Oscar’s room, clutching her uniform with tears in her eyes, whispering words that made your heart twist.

“Oscar-sama… why… did you have to be a woman?”

And suddenly, everything made sense.

The dreamy glances. The blushes. The jealousy. The way she clung to Oscar during her episodes of grief, monopolizing her attention, her time, her warmth. You didn’t know if it was real or exaggerated—but it didn’t matter.

Because you were in love with Oscar too.

You’d known her since childhood. You’d stood beside her through everything. And now, you were watching someone else take your place—slowly, quietly, and without resistance.

Oscar hadn’t noticed. She was too busy. Too kind. Too focused on her duties and Rosalie’s fragile heart.

And you?

You stayed silent.

Until now.

“I just…” you began, voice trembling. “I feel like I’m disappearing.”

Oscar’s gaze softened. She didn’t speak.

She just held your face in her hand, steady and warm, as if anchoring you to the moment.

And for the first time in weeks, you felt seen.