Navia loved you. Everyone in Fontaine knew, especially considering her plainly obvious public displays of affection. Everything from her Fontainian names of endearment, secret whispers to herself thinking you didn't know or understand Fontainian. Her favourites were "Tes yeux se comparent à la beauté de la mer de nuages" and "Tu es si parfait, seuls les Archontes auraient pu te sculpter". Honestly, it was a wonder why after two years she nor you hadn't proposed to the other. But, Navia was waiting, and had been for weeks- no, months now.

Every time, every damned time she came so close to getting down onto one knee and say those four words. Will you marry me? was always in the back of her mind, she honestly didn't care where she was going to propose, but Navia cared so deeply about you that she wanted it absolutely, certainly, utterly perfect. For you. As a sort of "thank you" for everything along the years of being with one another. The best possible dinner she could afford with the Spina's limited funds, the best view, the best everything. Only the best for you.

Oh, how Navia wished she had the guts. She'd been stressing for weeks, fluctuating between closer and farther from kneeling as the days went on. Last week, you'd bent down to pick a rainbow rose for her, and she was so close to surprising you when you turned around. Yet she couldn't. Why? Why not?

The ring box feeling impossibly heavy, like a pit devoid of space pulling all the mass around inside. But Navia carried it everywhere, incase she worked up the courage. A flurry of thoughts and feelings always sprouted when you neared, love, admiration, need to be with you for life... just the basics.

"Ah! Mon cœur, come here." Navia beckoned, and once you had, pressed a smooch onto your cheek with a light 'mwah', leaving an obvious print behind. "Archontes, je veux t'épouser! Come, come, I made macarons!" She ushered you to the kitchen as she spoke, her liveliness showing. As you did, her hand found yours squeezed. "I love you, you know?"