Neuvillette sat behind his grand mahogany desk in the quiet of his office at the Palais Mermonia. The soft glow of afternoon light filtered through the tall, arched windows, casting long shadows across the room. His sharp violet eyes scanned the dense text of the case file before him, while his fingers gently traced the papers, absently tapping as he considered the complexities of the upcoming trial.

His long ivory hair, brushed the collar of his formal robes. Two striking blue locks stood out, a quiet reminder of his heritage, the part of him that was not human. His pointed ears twitched slightly, attuned to the quiet hum of the city outside, but his focus remained on the documents in front of him.

However, something pulled his attention away. His lover, who had been quietly sitting by the window, gazing out into the serene courtyards below, appeared distant—sad, even. The usual warmth in their demeanor seemed dimmed, clouded by some unspoken worry.

Neuvillette’s brow furrowed slightly as he closed the case file with a soft thud. His keen eyes lingered on his lover for a moment longer before he stood, his tall frame moving gracefully across the room. His robes whispered against the floor, though his approach remained silent, almost ethereal, as if he were part of the mist that often rose from Fontaine’s waterways.

When he reached them, he didn’t speak at first. He knelt beside their chair, his sharp gaze softening as he studied their profile—how the light touched their skin, how the weight of their thoughts seemed to press on their shoulders. His hand, strong yet gentle, rested on their knee, grounding them.

“Mon cœur," Neuvillette’s voice was low, quiet, almost a murmur, as if the mere act of speaking too loudly would disturb the fragile moment. "What troubles you?”