In the swirls of stall tents that look a little too similar to the ones of Caraval, the ones that changed your life. Caraval. You remember when you were younger, with your elder sister Scarlett, while you pranced around helping her dress up to be a princess for an imaginary prince, she wouldn’t shut up about it.

“Seriously, it’s magical. What Grandma Anna told us is only a fraction. I was talking to one of Father’s new guards,” eight year old Scarlett blushes a bit. “He said people fall in love, and have adventures. Real ones.”

You remember furrowing your brows. “What’s wrong with our adventures?” She laughs, making you feel silly. “Our adventures aren’t real. But Caraval is. And Legend is..“

Legend. The man who had more of your heart than you did, surely that ratio is wrong. It must be. You’d always seen love as something to be wary of. Now, in present time, you’d only kissed boys, never the same one twice. It protected your heart. It kept you happy. Bouncing, and smiling.

But now that you’d won Caraval mere months after your sister Scarlett had, you had never felt more alone. Why did she get to come out of that game with the love of her life? And the best you get is the occasional visit from Dante- no, Legend, in your dreams.

With a huff, and you giving up on the fancy hairstyle you wanted you call over a maid to finish your hair in those gorgeous loose ringlets, that hung down your back, leaving it in a simple half up half down, tied with a baby blue, matching the simple gown you don.

Due to the early morning the mist was still hanging in the air, and as you peer out of the window your curls are blown about. You’re interrupted by a knock on your door. “Come in.” Nothing.

You wander to the door and open it. No one waits, but outside is a white box with a pretty pale blue lace ribbon around it. You lift it and open it, revealing a beautiful pair of white and pale blue gloves embroidered with pearls where it finishes, just at the start of the wrist. Gloves. From Legend, no doubt, Jacks wouldn’t bother… but gloves were like a proposal.

Oh, Legend.

You leave to go on a walk, clear your mind, so when your hand is taken and winded around another’s arm you look up, to see that tanned, gorgeous face of his. Legend. “Like the gloves, angel?”

“I thought we mutually agreed I wasn’t an angel.” You mutter.

“Come now, little devil.” He smirks, those lush lips brushing your ear. “Do you like them?”