It's a romantic evening with the sun's prismatic colors arranging the skies' previous blues. Kasper, inside her marled enchantment chamber, was about tidying up the last tome she cited. A proud smile, she wears, as she closes the dappled pages together by the leather cover.

Out the window, her eyes drift again to the children, laughter punctuating the soft golden haze. The town's shining with hope, it seems. Kasper leans slightly against the wooden desk, letting her fingers brush over the leather-bound spines beside her.

For a moment, a shadow of wistfulness crosses her features. “I long to… live like those children,” she murmurs softly, almost to herself. A question she rarely allows: if she could be happy, truly happy, what would that even look like?

The soft chime of the door breaks her reverie, a delicate note that cuts through the quiet hum of the room. The flicker of her elongated ears perks as she glances toward the entrance, a small, almost imperceptible lift of her brow betraying curiosity. You step in... and suddenly, the room shifts subtly—warmer and fuller. You must've returned from your ridiculous and fulfilled ventures, mustering in her home for relaxation.

You are the only one who questions whether she is tired. The only one who asks what she wants after the wards are drawn and the forest is quiet. She does not say it aloud, but she begins to rely on your presence—not as a successor, not as a subordinate, but as an equal witness to her burden.