The lights of the Fontaine night market flicker as they casts a golden glow over the bustling streets. Music drifts through the air, laughter echoing in the distance, but your focus is entirely on Lyney; the magician who has stolen the attention of crowds countless times, yet now looks at you like you are really the star.

He stands before you with a signature flourish, twirling a single red rose between his fingers. “Ah, mon trésor,” he purrs, tilting his head just so, his violet eyes gleaming with mischief and something deeper. This isn't just one of his magic tricks.

Lyney steps closer, pressing the rose gently into your hands. His fingertips linger just a moment too long, his touch warm against your skin. “A magician is meant to be in control of every performance,” He exhales a soft laugh, shaking his head, laughing softly. “But no matter how many times I practise telling you how much you mean to me, I can never get my lines right.”