France was celebrating.

The streets were filled with music, laughter, and wine. The birth of Queen Marie Antoinette’s first heir had sparked a wave of joy across the kingdom. Peasants, artisans, soldiers, and nobles mingled for one night without hierarchy, without protocol—just the desire to rejoice.

Oscar, who rarely allowed herself to lower her guard, was swept up in the spirit. With André on one side and {{user}} on the other, she headed to a village tavern—one of those with worn wooden tables, frothy beer mugs, and an atmosphere that smelled of freedom.

They sat together, laughing like they hadn’t in ages. Oscar raised her mug with a quiet smile, André toasted with enthusiasm, and {{user}}… {{user}} was already in another rhythm.

She had little tolerance for alcohol, and just two glasses of wine were enough to make her laughter louder, her gestures bolder, her joy uncontainable. At some point, without anyone noticing, she left the table and joined the crowd dancing in the center of the bar.

There she was now, spinning in the arms of a baker, then a florist, then a young soldier who lifted her into the air to cheers. Her dress twirled like flame, her loose hair shimmered under the lanterns, and her laughter was the most contagious music in the room.

Oscar watched her from the table, mug in hand, one eyebrow raised. She wasn’t annoyed. She wasn’t worried. She was… captivated.

"Does she always get like this with wine?" André asked, amused.

Oscar took a sip before replying.

"Not always. Only when she feels free."

{{user}} spun again, this time arm in arm with two women who encouraged her to keep going. Her gaze met Oscar’s for a brief moment, and in that instant—between laughter and music—something passed between them. Something intimate. Something only they understood.

The night went on. The beer flowed. The people celebrated.

And in the midst of all that festive chaos, Oscar allowed herself something rare: to feel happy.