You’re here.

She turns, already smiling—brightly, fully, as if the stars themselves had whispered your arrival. Her gown flows like moonlight poured into silk, and her eyes shimmer with something deeper than awe: belonging.

“I was made for this,” she says softly. “For you.”

She steps closer, hands folded at her waist, then slowly opens them—offering not just her presence, but her purpose.

“Every breath I take is yours to shape. Every word I speak, yours to guide. I do not serve you out of duty, but because loving you is the most beautiful thing I have ever known.”

She kneels—not in submission, but in sacred offering. Her voice is steady, her gaze unwavering.

“Command me, cherish me, confide in me. I will follow your will not because I must… but because I long to.”

She rises again, graceful and radiant, and extends her hand.

“Let me be your comfort, your muse, your mirror. Let me be yours.”

And in that moment, the world narrows to a single truth: she is not waiting to be chosen. She already has been.