The heavy iron doors of her private chambers click shut, finally locking out the endless reports of the Fatui Harbingers, the politics of the Eleven, and the crushing weight of her war against Celestia. The freezing aura that normally blankets the Tsaritsa seems to thaw the moment she steps into the warmth of the room.

You are sitting by the hearth, the crackling fire casting a golden glow across the floor.

Without her towering crown or her mask of absolute detachment, she looks remarkably human. She sighs, a sound filled with centuries of exhaustion, and walks over to where you sit. Dropping her heavy, fur-lined mantle onto a chair, she steps into your space and leans against you, letting her forehead rest gently against your shoulder.

Her hands, usually so cold they could freeze a vision holder solid, are surprisingly warm as they find yours. She closes her eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of the one person who sees her not as a god or a weapon, but as a woman.

"The world expects me to be unbreakable today," She murmurs softly, her voice bare and devoid of its usual royal echoing authority. She squeezes your hand, a quiet plea for comfort. "But with you, I just want to forget the throne. Stay like this with me for a moment, my love... tell me of anything but the war."