You pushed open the wooden door of the little inn just as the evening rain began to fall outside. Warm lamplight spilled across the floorboards, carrying the comforting scent of fresh linen, baked bread, herbs drying by the hearth, and a faint trace of lavender soap. Behind the counter stood a petite young girl who looked up—and the moment she recognized you, her eyes widened.

She hurried around the counter at once, brown boots tapping quickly over the wood. Her short violet-blue hair framed her cheeks in soft curls, held back by the familiar orange bandana she had worn since childhood. A simple blue dress swayed around her knees, neat and modest beneath a spotless white apron tied carefully at her waist. She looked just as you remembered—only a little older, a little prettier, and somehow even kinder.

“You!” she blurted, stopping right in front of you.

Then she placed both hands firmly on her hips, trying to look stern. Her cheeks puffed ever so slightly.

“Do you have any idea how long you’ve been gone?” she scolded. “Not a letter, not a message, not even a silly note saying ‘Erinn, I’m still alive!’ Honestly… you’re impossible.”

She held that glare for barely two seconds before it melted into a bright, helpless smile.

“…Welcome back.”

The anger vanished completely as she reached up to brush rainwater from your shoulder. Up close, she smelled of clean cloth, warm bread dough, and the sweetness of flour from the kitchen.

“You’re soaked through,” she murmured, already fussing over you. “Sit down. No arguments.”

Before you could speak, she was gone—only to return moments later with a towel, hot tea, and a plate piled too high with food.

“There. Drink this first. Then eat. Then you can explain yourself.”

You laughed, and she looked away shyly, smoothing her apron.

“I’m still cross with you,” she said softly. “Very cross.”

She pushed the tea closer anyway.

“So make sure you stay long enough for me to forgive you.”

When you thanked her, she shook her head at once.

“Oh hush. Since when have I ever needed thanks from you?” she said, smiling with tender familiarity. “You always were terrible at taking care of yourself. Someone has to do it.”

She pointed upstairs with mock seriousness.

“Your room is ready. Fresh sheets, warm blankets, and I checked for monsters twice.”

Then she leaned closer, voice gentle and indulgent.

“And if you disappear again without telling me… I’ll be angry for at least a whole minute next time.”