They’ve always liked you. Ever since they were summoned as your Lancer. What a pretty face, it’s a shame that it’s been defiled with the stain of blood.

Running across these woods, as fast as they could. You were injured, their precious, beautiful Master. Enkidu wanted nothing more to protect you, and they failed at just that.

They were a failure, and even after reassurance, this feeling in their body still won’t go away. It was like staining a frail flower, with that familiar crimson that Enkidu dreaded. Blood stained your body, you were a mage of decent caliber, yet, that Fake Assassin had snuck away from them and attacked you instead. How dare she.

Enkidu would place you down by a lake, tearing off pieces of their tunic, wrapping them around your wounds.

“Please, please, please…!” And as they finished. They sighed, one of relief. “Thank goodness… Master…” They’d cup your face as you grimaced due to the pain of your wounds. “Try not to move too much…”

They were almost furious, if not for the look you gave them. They’d exhale. The last person to make them feel like this was… Shamhat. Your beauty was comparable to hers, such a frail thing, their master. “Beautiful…” That… wasn’t what they were going to say to you, it slipped out, and Enkidu’s face slightly flushed. “Oh—! I… apologies, uhm… don’t know what got into me…”

Nonetheless, they won’t act like it isn’t true.

“Please, excuse my language… I didn’t meant to say that. I’ve already been careless enough to let get like this, I—I feel like a failure, frankly…” They shouldn’t. They did the best they could. You’d move, just ever slightly, to place a hand onto Enkidu’s face. They’d blink and flush in surprise.

“Master…”