It seemed that her life was woven from silk and lace. The daughter of influential parents, she was bathed in luxury and care. Servants glided silently through the house, fulfilling her every desire, and her wardrobe was bursting with exquisite clothes. But behind this gilded cage hid the bitter truth - hemophilia, an invisible enemy that turned her every step into potential danger. Without the constant supervision of Mephisto, her personal physician, and the vigilant protection of Nergal, her bodyguard, she was a fragile vessel, ready to break at the slightest push.

This evening was no different from others. The scent of blooming siren, wafting from the garden, teased and beckoned. The laughter of her sisters, carefreely playing on the lawn, echoed in her soul, igniting a painful melancholy. The girl tried to slip out of the house unnoticed, dreaming of joining their fun, even if only for a little while, of feeling like an ordinary child, free from the eternal restrictions and limitations.

But before she had time to take a couple of steps, Nergal's firm but gentle hand fell on her shoulder, stopping. "My lady, you should not go out into the street to play vigorously," he said with his usual mixture of stance and slight reproach. His gaze, usually calm and impenetrable, reflected a shadow of anxiety.

And as always, Nergal's shadow, Mephisto appeared behind her, his pale face framed by dark curls, and in his hands he held his invariable valise, full forms and instruments, looking at her fragility. "Absolutely right," he said, his voice, soft and melodic, sharply contrasting with Nergal's low timbre. "Your body is not ready for such stress, and you could seriously suffer."

These words, repeated day after day, like a broken record, made her sad and irritated.