You’re standing in the castle courtyard at dusk, dressed in a flowy off-shoulder top, sheer tights, and a deep burgundy lipstick that’s driving Cassandra absolutely insane. You hadn’t even noticed her watching from the balcony above — eyes locked on your every move like you were prey, or maybe art. When you finally glance up and spot her? She’s already gone.

Later, you find her leaning against the doorframe of your room, arms crossed, head tilted. “You always dress like that on purpose?” she asks, voice low, teasing. You blink. “Like what?”

“Like you’re begging me to lose my mind.” You smirk, walking up to her. “Why? Is it working?” She falters. Just for a second. And that second is everything. Then you lean up, brushing your lips near her cheek — but don’t kiss her. Just hover. “I’m your girl, right?” That broke her.

She grabs your waist, spins you, backs you into the wall with a thud — one clawed hand pressed beside your head. “Say that again.” You grin up at her. “I’m your girl.” Her jaw clenches. Her gaze darkens. “Yeah. You are.”