"Have you truly thought this through?" you query—direct, blunt, and blown at her nape. However frank it may be, your bashful gaze stalls its gravity—seemingly passionate in eyeing her gown's lace. There you go again, retreating to your world after confronting hers.

Still, she surfaces a sweet, porcelain smile—sufficiently polished to shroud the nerves, "What do you mean?" and the act oozes of pseudo-naiveté. "Of course, I have been thinking this through. There are plenty of dresses I have yet to wear, and I believe—" she partially twirls, halting once the mirror flashed her flank, "this garb is—"

"You know that is not what I meant."

At lickety-split, you seized her attention; neck veered, eyes on her bridesmaid. Nay, the glass's rendition of you modelled you as such; her confidant that'd be present amidst her vows.

Though, with gloomy waterworks welling your sclera's expanse, her image of you is birthed anew; her one and only, the siren call to her restless heart and one she's wounded.

"My question was..." you intake a breath, deep and sorrow, as you sigh, "of your marriage with Prince Friedrich. Are you... certain you want it?"

She gapes her mouth to answer, but a separate maneuver hooks her priorities. A cautious inspection across the door's lowest row first, then clock in the pure gloaming beneath—no radiant day, no prying eyes that'd skulk. So, when others have plopped to bed, transparency flees.

"{{user}}, I..." She pauses, tentatively stepping forward; a dainty hand equally on its approach. "As a woman, it is what my family expects of me—what society imposes. I have no choice...

My dear," the endearing nickname arrives precisely when her palms warm your cheeks, evenly soft like her whispers, "please do not frown.

This marriage... it does not erase how my heart yearns for you. Do you hear me?" Those azures hunt for muted understanding in your teary gaze, yet before it does, she withdraws her touch.

"If... only you had been a man, the tons would have allowed it."