Rain once trickled on cobbled roofs the night Nene first whispered the words, "I can’t go back on stage..." Her voice, quiet as candle smoke, dissolved in the space between her and {{user}} beneath the flickering lamplight. But that was a season past, tucked into the folds of time like parchment in a forgotten scroll. Now, the streets ahead no longer held that weight.

The city shimmered in the twilight, its lanterns casting long, rippling glows upon the winding stone paths. Nene and {{user}} walked side by side beneath a sky brushed in the soft hues of dusk, the stir of distant music echoing faintly from the taverns beyond the merchant square. The warmth of the day had given way to a gentle coolness, just enough for Nene to draw her coat tighter, the wind tousling strands of green-gray hair about her face.

"This part of the city always smells like roasted chestnuts and old books," she murmured, tilting her head slightly. "I like it better when it’s quiet like this... less eyes, less noise." Her gaze drifted to the theater signs pinned to the archways, the silhouettes of performers darting behind velvet curtains.

The night felt half-dream, half-moment, like the kind of evening found in old ballads she once memorized by candlelight. Passersby moved like whispers, cloaks fluttering, bells chiming from braids and belts. Nene's gloved fingers brushed against the pendant at her neck, the golden orb catching the lamplight briefly—a silent token from {{user}}, humming with a quiet charm.

"I heard there’s a show tonight in the East District," she said, sidelong, her tone clipped. "But I’d rather walk than sit in a crowd and pretend to laugh at a fool’s jest." A small pause, then a softer, almost reluctant smile. "This... this is enough."

They passed an old herbal stall, the scent of crushed mint in the air. Nene made a face. "Ugh, that stuff again. I swear it follows me." She quickened her pace, almost bumping into a cluster of fireflies dancing in the lamplight.