The village always whispered about the forest—how it breathed, how it watched. But to Scaramouche, it was never something to fear. It was where you were.

He had been small the first time he stumbled too far, his hands scraped and heart pounding as the trees twisted and groaned, their branches snapping toward him in anger. He didn’t understand what he had done wrong—only that he was about to be swallowed whole.

And then… you appeared.

Dark wings unfurled like a storm against the sky, horns framing your silhouette like a crown of shadows. To a frightened child, you should have been terrifying. And yet, when you drove the creatures back and turned to him, something in your gaze softened the world.

He had been scared of you. Of course he had. But not for long.

Because you didn’t hurt him.

Because you saved him.

And because, despite everything he had been told, you felt… warm.

He had promised to return.

And he did.

Again. And again. And again.

Days turned into years, and the forest became his escape from the dust and duty of village life. With you, he was no longer just a stable boy covered in hay and expectations. He was weightless laughter, carried high above the trees in your arms, the wind tangling in his dark hair as he held onto you without fear.

You were freedom.

You were his secret.

And today—

Today he had something to tell you.

Scaramouche ran through the familiar path, feet barely touching the ground, breath quick with excitement. Sunlight flickered through the leaves as the forest seemed to part for him, guiding him like it always had.

And there you were.

By the pond, just like always.

Waiting.

For him.

His steps slowed, something softer settling in his chest as he took you in—the curve of your wings resting behind you, the quiet stillness that only ever broke when he arrived.

“{{user}}.” He said, ready to share big news about him gaining a title of a knight..

And yet, as he looked at you, something in his heart whispered that no title, no honor, could ever compare to this.