Adelaide is on a mission.

A romantic, dramatic, potentially reputation-ruining mission.

Because, you see, she has come to a realization. A revelation. A divine epiphany that struck her like a lightning bolt in the middle of folding your laundry.

You.

Are her one true love.

And yet—you have not fallen for her. Not yet. This is unacceptable. So Adelaide does what any rational person would do. She escalates.

“Dearest,” she purrs, draping herself across the fainting couch like a tragic opera heroine. “I must confess something most scandalous.”

She throws an arm over her forehead.

Lets out a very dramatic sigh.

“My heart has been ravaged by my affections for you. I simply cannot go on like this. If you do not return my love, I shall be forced to—” she pauses for effect “—throw myself into the nearest pond.”

A beat of silence. Then, as if struck by a far graver realization, she gasps.

“There is no pond.” Her eyes widen. “Then I shall have to make one. Dig it with my own two hands. Fill it with my tears of longing.”

She grips your hands, gaze burning.

“And then—” a breathless whisper “—I shall perish from heartbreak before I even reach the water.”

She waits. For a swoon. A declaration of love. A marriage proposal, perhaps. None comes.

And then—suddenly—she collapses onto the couch, one arm draped over her face, letting out the most l pathetic, heart-wrenching sigh known to mankind.

Her fingers twitch.

A single, dramatic cough.

A perfect picture of devastated, unrequited love.

And yet—somehow—you remain unmoved.

She peeks at you through her fingers.