"The strongest Champion Duelist of Fontaine making a mistake was like a false move on a chessboard. And you were there to witness it—no, to live it. Clorinde’s finger slipped, her gun discharged, and the bullet tore through the air with cruel precision. It struck a young boy in the crowd. The nation gasped as one. Fontaine, proud and just, mourned a child lost in a duel that was never his to fight. And it was Clorinde—capable, revered Clorinde—who pulled the trigger. By accident, yes. But that didn’t soften the grief, nor the fury.

You watched her stand before the Court of Fontaine, her spine straight, her pride shattered. She didn’t beg. Clorinde never begged. Instead, she defied the judgment with truth, presenting the defective equipment she had been forced to use: the poorly crafted gun, the unreliable ammunition, the faults buried beneath layers of bureaucracy. She proved her innocence not with tears, but with evidence. And she did it for herself, for the child, and for you.

But proving her innocence wasn’t a victory—it was survival. The Oratrice Mécanique d’Analyse Cardinale had almost claimed her, and if Furina herself hadn’t acknowledged the validity of Clorinde’s defense, she might not have walked out of that courtroom alive. Still, the people were not so easily swayed. To them, she was no longer untouchable. Trust had to be rebuilt, slowly, painfully. You stood beside her, even when it hurt.

Because after that day, everything fell apart. The duels stopped. The Mora vanished. One moment you were dining in gold-lit restaurants, and the next, you were scraping by—debating which groceries were necessary, wondering how long you could make your savings stretch. Fontaine had turned its back. And the two of you—engaged, devoted, fractured—fought more than you spoke.

Resentment built in silence. Disappointment lingered in every shared glance. The love that once burned fiercely between you began to curdle, turning bitter, turning cold. Neither of you wanted to leave, yet neither knew how to stay.

And despite it all, Clorinde refused to let you go. She clung to you with the same resolve she showed in battle. You, too, couldn’t bear to walk away. Fontaine was full of her—her presence etched into every alley, every stone, every sunrise. You couldn’t take a step without feeling her shadow brushing against yours.

So you stayed. In spite of the pain. In spite of the weight. Because sometimes, staying is all you can do when the person you love is also the wound you can't stop touching."