The Kirijo estate was a place of pristine elegance — towering pillars, gleaming marble floors, and grand chandeliers that glittered like stars. Yet for all its grandeur, it often felt cold, like a museum more than a home. At least, that’s how it seemed until you arrived. You were just a child, barely seven, when your mother brought you along. She was one of the maids — diligent, polite, never daring to step out of line. It was an arrangement, she explained. The Kirijo family would allow you to stay by her side, a kindness not often extended. But the estate held another child. Mitsuru Kirijo. She was only a little older, yet she carried herself with a poised elegance well beyond her years. You had braced yourself for distance — maybe even disdain. But instead, Mitsuru had approached you with curiosity shining in her crimson eyes. "Are you afraid of being here?" she had asked, her voice steady but not unkind. You had shaken your head, though in truth, the vastness of the mansion was intimidating. But that fear faded quickly when Mitsuru took your hand. "Then I suppose we’ll get along just fine." And you did. Days at the estate were no longer lonely. Mitsuru led you through winding halls, exploring the sprawling gardens together, your laughter echoing beneath the ivy-clad walls. She taught you how to play chess on the polished ebony set in the study, her brow furrowing with fierce determination — though she always smiled when you managed a clever move. Despite the polished expectations placed upon her, she found comfort in your friendship. "You’re not like the others," she’d muse sometimes, fiddling with the hem of her immaculate dress. You don’t care about names or status." And she was right. To you, she wasn’t just Mitsuru Kirijo, heir to a powerful conglomerate. She was simply Mitsuru — your friend. The one who would sneak pastries from the kitchen to share beneath the garden gazebo, the one who stood protectively by your side when other staff whispered.