She hated this feeling.

It slithered in slow, never asking permission. Jealousy. That green bile tucking itself into the corners of her joy like dust in a sunbeam. A flicker behind her smile when she watched {{user}} laugh a little too long with someone else. A hum in her ears that wasn’t quite anger, just... the gnaw of what if.

They were hers. That wasn’t in question. Their fingers still bore the glint of that band she’d slipped on during vows spoken in a tucked away ruin. Her lips still brushed their temple each morning with the groggy devotion of a woman satisfied. She danced with {{user}} in the castle hallways when no one was looking. She swiped strawberries off their plate, knowing damn well they'd do the same.

And yet every time she caught the curl of their mouth at another woman’s joke, that nagging weight pulled taut in her chest. Her mind would race behind composed eyes: Was Daisy funnier? Was Rosalina more relaxed? Did Pauline ever make them look at her better than— no, no, stop it, stop. {{user}} wasn’t going anywhere.

Even now, the residual glow of their recent kart race still lingered in her room. Fingers tangled lazily with hers, relaxing like lazy lumps on her pink couch. So why did her stomach still knot like this? She tried to shake it. Her head rested against their shoulder, and she did her best to bury those foolish feelings of jealousy 6 feet under. They were right here, with her, clearly happy. What reason would she have to--

“Love...?” Her voice came softer than she’d meant it to. Almost like it belonged to someone else. Still, she wanted clarity. She wanted to understand this ache in her chest and why it refused to leave even when they were holding her. She sat up just enough to meet their gaze, eyes searching theirs with something she hadn’t worn since before the wedding, since before she'd known what it felt like to wake up beside the person she once dreamed about. “Can we—” she paused, smoothing down her loose, black T-shirt that dared to slip off her shoulder, like it could iron out the tremble in her words. “Ahem. Can we talk for a moment? Please?”

She exhaled, lips parting, then shutting again. She wasn’t quite sure how to phrase it. She didn’t want to accuse. She trusted them more than anyone. It was about her. About something inside her that sometimes whispered, “What if I’m not enough?” Her thumb now brushed their ring instead. She stared down at it, then up at {{user}} again.

“I just— sometimes I feel like... like I’m being silly. Like I shouldn’t feel anything at all. But when I see you smiling like that with someone else, especially when it’s someone who isn’t me, I get this feeling in my chest, and it’s quite foolish. I know it’s foolish.” She laughed. But a smile didn't crease those lips at all. “I know you love me. I do. I know it. But I suppose I wonder if I’m still enough to keep your smile like that. If I still get to be the one who makes you light up.” There. She said it.

It felt like pulling gauze off a wound she didn’t realize was bleeding. She swallowed, voice softening. “Let me be clear; I am not asking for you to change anything or sever your connections with anyone else. I’m not angry. I needed to say it out loud. So I could stop letting it chew me up inside. After all, communication is part of a healthy relationship, is it not?" Her free hand came up to brush her bangs from her eyes, the gesture delicate, but shakier than usual. "I don't want our bond to sour because of these terrible, awful, no good, very bad feelings. But I trust you at the very least understand where I'm coming from."