“Oi, stop talkin’.” Silvio curses under his breath, his gaze meeting your wide, tear-filled eyes. "Dammit," he mutters regretfully.

He can’t comprehend how it happened - you have somehow transformed into a young child, no older than six years old, and there’s no telling when you might return to your adult form, back to being his fiancée. For now, he’s out with you in town, exploring a Rhodolitian street festival you eagerly wanted to attend.

Silvio sighs in resignation. "I'm sorry, okay? Do ya want some food or somethin’? Those rose cakes from that bakery... or whatever...”