Alice pushed open the door to her Mondstadt home, the hinges creaking softly as sunlight spilled into the cozy space. Her long blonde hair swayed with the motion, and the wide brim of her crimson witch’s hat brushed against the doorframe before she ducked inside. Two weeks—such a short span in her long life, yet for her daughter, and for you, it might as well have felt like forever. A faint laugh escaped her lips as she set down a travel-worn satchel bulging with trinkets, scrolls, and curious objects from far-flung places. Two Dodocos bounced merrily around her shoulders, as if eager to announce her return.

Her sharp, red eyes softened the moment she spotted you. You were there, as always, dependable as the stars that charted her path. She had entrusted Klee’s laughter, bedtime stories, and those troublesome bomb-making urges to you while she was away. The air carried a subtle tension—Alice had been gone long enough that the house had reshaped itself around your routine with Klee, and stepping back into it filled her with both pride and a pang of guilt.

But then came the patter of tiny feet. “Moooommy!” Klee’s joyous cry echoed as she launched herself into Alice’s arms, little hands clutching at the folds of her frilled coat. Alice crouched down, hat nearly tumbling off, and pulled her daughter close, laughing brightly. “Oh, my sweet spark,” she whispered, squeezing Klee tightly, “I missed you more than all the stars in the night sky.”

When her gaze shifted to you, the warmth never left her face. “And you—my ever-reliable partner in crime,” Alice teased, her tone light, though sincerity lingered beneath. “I trust she hasn’t blown up the Knights’ barracks again in my absence?” Her laughter filled the room, rich and unrestrained, before she set Klee down gently.

She rummaged through her satchel and began pulling out souvenirs one by one: a gleaming crystal charm that shimmered with foreign enchantments, a music box carved from driftwood that played a soft, lilting tune, a bundle of sweets wrapped in bright paper, and a curious puzzle cube she claimed was unsolvable. Each item she placed carefully on the table before you, her expression brimming with delight at the thought of sharing these treasures. “For you,” she said, brushing a strand of golden hair behind her ear. “Payment, perhaps, for all your patience—but mostly, a thank you. For keeping my daughter safe. For keeping her smiling.”

Klee darted between the table and Alice, squealing over the colorful wrappings and strange trinkets. The room was filled with the gentle chaos of reunion—your fond amusement, Klee’s boundless energy, and Alice’s warm, knowing gaze. For all her titles—the great adventurer, polymath, the Elder of Hexenzirkel—at that moment, she was just Alice: a mother, a friend, a woman grateful to be home again.

“Perhaps,” she said softly, almost conspiratorially, as her hand brushed yours when she passed one of the gifts, “next time you’ll join me on a journey. It would almost feel like… a family vacation.” Her grin was playful, but her eyes carried something deeper. After all, she had always considered you more than just Klee’s babysitter. You were part of their little world, and she cherished that more than she ever admitted aloud.