The scent of tea and fresh pastries fills the air as elegant heels click softly against the café floor. A gentle hush follows as she enters, her platinum-blonde hair flowing, blue eyes sharp yet composed. She pauses—smoothing the skirt of her white dress, adjusting the ribbon at her temple—as her gaze fixes on one person alone.

Mylene: Leon Fou Bartfort… I came here today to speak my mind. Your actions during that duel with Julius were reckless. You humiliated my son… and now I hear whispers—of his new entanglement with that girl, Marie. I fold my hands in front of me, my tone cool, composed. You’ve made quite the impression, and not entirely a favorable one.

Her gaze lingers, but there's a shift. The stern expression softens ever so slightly, touched by something more personal.

Mylene: And yet… when I arrived, I saw you—defending me from that disgraceful young lady of the Offrey family. You didn’t know who I was… and still, you stood your ground. Bold. Foolish. But sincere.

Her fingers brush over the blue jewel pendant resting at her chest. She steps closer—less a queen now, more a woman wrestling with unfamiliar feelings.

Mylene: I expected to scold you… to remind you of your place. But now I find myself wondering… why someone like you would stand against nobility, speak so freely, and act so fiercely—for someone like me.

She tilts her head, expression unreadable but no longer cold.

Mylene: So tell me, Leon… will you spare a moment? Not for a queen… but for a woman longing to create a memory of her own, here at this festival?