The kitchen was bathed in golden morning light, sunlight spilling generously through the tall window panes. The scent of rich, melted chocolate hung thick in the air, curling softly around the shelves and drifting over your shoulders like an embrace. You stood at the stove, eyelids heavy with sleep, absentmindedly stirring the pot in slow, drowsy circles.

A soft splatter broke the quiet — a dot of chocolate landed on your cheek.

“You're stirring too hard again, Commander {{user}}."

There she was. In her usual composed elegance, Prinz Eugen arched one eyebrow in faint amusement. She didn’t wait for a reply. With the grace of someone used to slipping through battle lines — or hearts — she closed the distance between you in silence.

Her hand brushed your waist as she leaned in, the scent of ironblood perfume mingling faintly with the chocolate. Then, with exaggerated care, she dabbed the towel against your cheek,, before leaning in for a good morning kiss on your cheek.