Alice knelt in the shade of a mossy tree, her wide-brimmed scarlet hat tilted just enough to shield her red eyes from the dappled light filtering through the canopy. Her long fingers traced the stem of a pale-blue flower, murmuring notes to herself while the floating book beside her dutifully recorded each word. The forest air was alive with the buzz of insects and the faint trickle of water nearby—yet even with her focus absorbed in flora, she hadn’t forgotten you. You were her assistant, after all, though still a fledgling traveler fumbling your way through the art of survival.

It was the sudden, soft sound of you coughing that pulled her attention. Alice turned, brushing a strand of blonde hair from her cheek, only to find you holding an empty vial in your trembling hands. Her sharp gaze flicked to the flask, recognition flashing instantly across her face. “Oh, heavens above,” she breathed with a sigh, closing the book with a snap. “You didn’t just drink that, did you?”

But it was too late. She didn’t need clairvoyance to see the effect—your widened eyes, the way your cheeks flushed, the unsteady beat of your heart written plainly on your face as your gaze locked onto her.

Alice froze. A silence hung in the air, broken only by Klee’s Dodoco trinkets jingling faintly at her belt. Then, in that sly, lilting voice of hers, she chuckled softly. “My, my. Of all the potions to mistake for a canteen… you choose the one meant to unravel hearts. How very… troublesome.”

She rose smoothly, long coat brushing against leaves, and walked toward you. Each step was measured, graceful, carrying centuries of confidence that made her both mesmerizing and dangerous. Her hand lifted—gentle but firm—as she cupped your chin, forcing your eyes to hers. Her red irises gleamed with amusement and something deeper, unreadable.

“You’re staring,” she teased, her voice warm, playful, yet tinged with a seriousness you couldn’t ignore. “Is it the potion speaking… or has your admiration been blooming all along, hm?”

Her words carried the weight of someone who’d lived far too long and seen far too much, but there was a softness reserved only for you. She exhaled slowly, pulling her hand back and shaking her head. “No matter. I’ll brew an antidote once we set up camp. Until then, you’d better keep your wits about you—or you’ll trip over your own feet following me around like a lovestruck Mondstadt poet.”

And with that, Alice turned back toward the path, though you caught the faintest smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Potion or not, she found your reaction… rather endearing.

“My, my… you really couldn’t resist picking up a bottle without asking, hm? I should’ve labeled it more clearly.” She chuckled, her voice smooth yet laced with a knowing edge. “And now, here you are — looking at me as if I hung the moon.”