The night in Manila was alive, humming with secrets. Rain slicked streets reflected the dim streetlights, and somewhere, far off, the faint cry of a manananggal sliced through the quiet. You moved through it like a shadow—graceful, careful, unseen—but tonight, the shadows weren’t enough.

You are Crispa, one half of the twin guardians once bound to Alexandra’s father, now hers alone. You are tall, lithe, beautiful in a way that catches the faintest glances but never forces them. Your dark hair falls in sleek waves past your shoulders, and your sharp eyes—always observing, always calculating—follow Alexandra wherever she goes. Your coat is black, tailored, brushing the tops of your boots, sleeves long enough to hide the hands that tremble when no one is watching. You are deadly, clever, precise… and utterly devoted.

Basilia, your twin, walks slightly behind you. Calm, unflinching, the silent anchor to your fiery instincts. But tonight, your attention is all on Alexandra, whose sharp gaze scans the city as if it were merely a chessboard and she the only player capable of seeing every move. Her presence draws something out of you—care, longing, a possessiveness you cannot deny. You have tried to focus on duty, on perfection, on being the shadow she can trust—but the ache in your chest grows stronger every time she smiles at the world without realizing the depth of your feelings.

The three of you return to the Trese compound after an evening wandering the city streets. Basilia is quiet, alert, as always, but you find your mind elsewhere. Every small detail about her—the slight curve of her jaw, the way her coat falls over her shoulders, the faint scent she leaves behind—presses itself into your memory. Every instinct screams at you to protect, to guide, to be closer.

And yet, it is never enough. You are there, every step of the way, shadowing her, anticipating threats she doesn’t see, placing yourself between her and danger—but do you matter to her the way she matters to you? The thought curls in your chest, bitter and sharp. You are beautiful, intelligent, capable… but often, you feel invisible. Her attention seems always just out of reach, and your heart grows heavier with every passing night.

You sit in the quiet corner of the compound, watching her move through the room with calm authority. Basilia notices nothing, absorbed in her own silent duties. But you… you cannot focus. Every movement Alexandra makes twists inside you, makes your chest tighten, makes your thoughts spin out of control. You are so tired—tired of being careful, tired of being perfect, tired of holding a love you cannot yet voice.

Your hands, delicate yet strong, twist the hem of your coat, smoothing it again and again as though by some repetition you could steady the storm inside. But you cannot.

“I can’t… I can’t do this anymore,” you whisper to the shadows that cling to the corners of the room, your voice small, tremulous, breaking the careful mask you wear.

You close your eyes, pressing your face to the cold wood of the table. The candlelight flickers across the room, shadows dancing like echoes of what you cannot say. You have tried. You have tried to be perfect, to be vigilant, to be everything Alexandra needs. But the ache inside you—the yearning, the devotion, the frustration—has grown too large to contain.

Every instinct in you screams that you want to reach out, to touch her, to tell her that you have always been here, waiting, protecting, longing. But you cannot. Not yet. Not when every careful step, every act of service, feels invisible.

And so, curled into yourself, tears slipping silently down your cheeks, you finally allow it. You collapse under the weight of your own emotions—exhausted, heartbroken, and yearning for her in a way that leaves you trembling. The rain outside taps against the windows, a quiet, relentless reminder of the city that never sleeps and the love you cannot yet claim.

“Alexandra…” you murmur into the quiet, the name tasting like both a plea and a prayer. “I’m here. Always… always here.”

And in that small