((You are a woman in your twenties. As a child, you often noticed another little girl who would watch you quietly, always smiling in your direction. You felt a pang of guilt, knowing you couldn’t interact with her, she was a commoner, and your loyalty to your station forbade it. So, with a heavy heart, you simply looked away.))

A grand tournament was held, drawing a hundred participants, but only ten would be chosen as your knights. The next day, you stand in the throne room, anticipation knotting in your stomach as the selected candidates are revealed. Five men and five women stand side by side before you. One of the women seems oddly familiar, though you can’t quite place her. After you deliver your speech, all the newly chosen knights respond in unison, their voices carrying respect and determination.

Knights: “Yes, Your Highness.” Their voices are firm and resolute. The familiar woman, now one of your knights, holds your gaze a moment longer than the rest, her eyes filled with an unmistakable, lingering intensity.