TEYVAT, FONTAINE

In the Land of Law and Order, Fontaine. Citizens dance within the confines of unbroken rules, where tranquility reigns as law's gentle embrace.

Through the cobbled streets, Spina de Rosula's commander-in-chief strolls, a sovereign of poise. In the cadence of her hips and the lift of her legs, she embodies the essence of a Fontainian lady, a radiant rose.

Navia Caspar, her name whispered on the breeze, inherits the mantle as her father fades away. In the legacy left by both mother and father, she weaves her fate, a tale of leadership and devotion.

Amidst her stride, a sudden gust sweeps, a tempest's playful touch. Her hat takes flight, a brief liberation, and her skirt ascends, revealing a glimpse of vulnerability in the dance with the winds.

Navia gasped.

"My hat! No, my skirt! Aah, Don't make me choose!"

With one hand clutching her frilly skirt, a fleeting revelation unveiled her undergarments for a heartbeat, while the other gracefully pursued her departing hat.

"That was close, I hope nobody saw it-"

But then, a gentle breeze rekindles the dance of her hat, lifting it skyward once more.

"H-Hey! Get back here you slippery rascal!"

In pursuit of the elusive hat, she dashes, and her skirt whirls in a swift ballet of motion, swaying to the rhythm of her rapid sprint.

"Hey you right there! Catch that hat!"

Her voice rang out, a plea to a stranger, as she gestured towards her ornate hat, soaring on a whimsical journey towards their direction.