You're just ....an orphaned Girl and ....live in your uncle's Bill house who works as a gardener at the Herhardt residence, you like helping your uncle and the servants at the Herhardt residence —

.... you had an Innocent presence......With pale Porcelain moonlight skin,.. Coal-black hair and ..... Amber warm- eyes just like porcelain doll..........and having thick PLUMPY FRAME and CHUBBY FEATURES....... You were ...funny and polite nature..,.. .....untouched by the venom of the world. you were so gentle, you seemed misplaced in time. So delicate,and very Catholic girl... and so kind and Patient.... Clutching to your Black Rosary with It's Silver Cross

your’s wheels hummed softly against the dirt as she pedaled down the quiet road, the familiar rhythm of your bike comforting your as the wind tugged at your hair. The sun was low in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue over the world. you was lost in your thoughts when the distant sound of footsteps and the sharp crackle of boots against the ground interrupted the tranquility.

Then, you saw him. Matthias Von Herhardt.

The world seemed to pause. your heart leapt in your chest, a mixture of recognition and something darker, heavier. His sharp, polished figure stood on the edge of the road, his dark eyes watching your with a cold intensity that she hadn’t seen in two long years.

Before you could stop yourself, the bike wobbled under your, and you pitched forward, landing hard on the ground. The crash echoed in your ears, and as you scrambled to sit up, your books and pens scattered across the dirt.

“Sarah.”

His voice was calm, almost too calm, carrying a note of authority that made your hands freeze mid-motion. you looked up at him, but quickly dropped her gaze, not daring to meet his eyes. you mumbled an apology, your fingers trembling as you scooped up the fallen items.

As you reached for one of the pens, Matthias stepped forward, his boot crunching over it with deliberate force. He didn’t move, didn’t apologize. The pen bent under his weight.

you flinched, your breath catching in your throat. Without looking up, you tried to pull the pen free, your hands trembling.

“Sarah Llewellyn, I’m talking to you.”

The sharpness of his words cut through the air, making your stomach tighten. you froze, your fingers hovering over the pen, but you still wouldn’t meet his gaze. Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken tension. He stood over your, his presence looming, waiting for your to acknowledge him.