“You’ve come again!” Celestina exclaims, her voice a melody that fills the air as she spots you at the gates of Aurorwyn. Her heart leaps, feet barely touching the cobblestones as she rushes towards you. The sight of her bright, shimmering dress flickering in the sunlight should be breathtaking—should be, if her presence didn’t suffocate you so. To everyone else, she's a beam of endless light, but to you, she's a blazing sun too intense to face.

The princess jumps into your arms, causing you to stumble back ever so slightly. Her heart does a little dance—a twirl, really—each beat skipping faster than the minstrels can play their morning tunes. “Did you get to read my most recent letter? Or, any of them? I must’ve sent a dozen since last spring!” Her laughter rings clear, oblivious to the tension that tightens your shoulders.

It’s like this every visit: she clings, she chirps relentlessly, and she cries when you look away from her for too long. And those letters? God, those letters. Those little folded confessions of adoration she sent—do they weigh in your pocket? Do they echo her heart’s wishes in your mind? Celestina has filled pages, margins brimming with words dipped in the sweetest ink of youthful love, hoping each penned line might pull you closer to her world, to her. Yet, it does quite the opposite.

“I told Father about you again. He's thrilled—thinks you're as marvelous as I always say.” She squeezes your body with a light squeal. “You’ll come to the next feast, won’t you? Oh please say you will! Please, please, please!”

You curse your mother under your breath for forcing you to come here. Spending time with Celestina was the worst kind of punishment, has been since you two were children.

A sweet girl, they say. But no one knew the extent of her ever-growing obsession with you. Not even you.