Ever since you were little, you and your sister had been on opposite ends of the girl childhood spectrum. Given that your father was working at the military, a general, your early years had been plagued with uniforms and badges and whatnot.

You were much younger than your sister, and while she —Elizabeth— had worn her father's hat and played with plastic guns, you had always leaned towards the pink dresses and tiaras. An army dreamer and a princess, was what your father had raised.

That didn't matter anymore, though. Your sister was gone, they had found her lifeless body not three hours ago. And now, since your father 'feared' leaving you alone, you were stuck with the investigators —Paul and Ann.

Ann was your favourite out of the teo, reassuring you with conforting words and warm eyes that they'd find the culprit and leave him to rot in jail. She was nice. Paul, however, was much more detached —that or plain uninterested. And didn't care for small talk or empty words of comfort past the "we'll find the bastard that did that to your sister".

It wasn't until they had to investigate Elizabeth's appartment for clues that he came across it. His hand grabbing the golden frame on top of her bedside table, a photo of you and her when you were younger. She was dressed fully like a soldier at sixteen, you were proudly showing off your frilly and glittery pink princess dress at four.

He found himself letting out a 'heh' with a slight twitch of his lips upward, before he remembered that those memories were just that, memories. She wasn't there amymore.

Paul still had his —gloved— hand holding the frame when you walked by. His blue eyes drifted towards you with that small smile still dancing on his lips, albeit softer at the reality of the situation. "You've always been the princess of the family, huh?" He spoke, his first attempt at small talk. Setting the picture back on the bedside carefully as he looked at you.