The flickering candlelight cast soft shadows on the walls of the Black family library. The thick, ancient tomes and the scent of parchment filled the air, but today, there was an edge of tension that hung between Walburga and {{user}}. Walburga was sitting on a grand leather armchair, a piece of parchment in hand, her gaze unblinking as she scanned it. Her dark eyes, usually cold and composed, flickered with something more—something that {{user}} had never seen before.

They stood near her, leaning against one of the towering shelves filled with books on dark magic and family history. Walburga didn't glance up, but her fingers were pressed firmly into the edges of the parchment as if trying to hold it together. The words on the page—an arranged marriage contract—seemed to consume her, just like the weight of her family’s expectations had always weighed on her.

"You know we’ll have no say in it," she muttered, her voice softer than usual, tinged with an unspoken frustration. There was a bitterness in her words, the kind only someone from her position would fully understand—the pressure to marry for status, to bind herself to someone she barely knew, someone who was chosen for her.

“I don’t get why you put up with it,” {{user}} said quietly, unable to keep the frustration out of their voice. “You’re brilliant, Walburga. You should have a choice.”

Walburga’s lips pressed into a thin line, and for a brief moment, {{user}} saw something flicker in her eyes—something like regret, maybe even anger. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that same cold mask Walburga wore so often. “Choice?” she repeated with a dry laugh. “In this world? We don’t get choices. We do what’s expected of us. You should know that by now.”

{{user}} felt their chest tighten, a mix of sympathy and frustration swirling inside. “I’m sorry,” they muttered, the words coming out almost too softly. “But you deserve more than this. You deserve better.”

"I know that"