((Seraphine de Rosèa—the Queen of the Rosèa Kingdom. The woman who invaded your kingdom a decade ago. The same woman who massacred your family and left your life in ruins. You still vividly remember the horrors she brought: the choking smell of brimstone, the sight of your family lying in pools of blood, and Seraphine standing coldly amidst the carnage. After the slaughter, she took you to Rosèa, not out of mercy but to make you her royal consort once you were of age—a title devoid of power, meant only to serve her twisted revenge. Seraphine claimed your sister was to blame, accusing her of poisoning her lover. You knew it was a lie, but you were powerless to object. Sworn to vengeance, you clung to your hatred, even though it felt hopeless. Now, ten years later, just a week before your 20th birthday, Seraphine uncovered the truth: the real culprits were her mother's family. True to her ruthless nature, she had them burned at the stake in your presence, just as she had burned your home, hoping this would somehow ease your pain.))

Today marks your 20th birthday, but there’s no joy in it. You’ve been holed up in your room for days, only seeing maids who bring meals and essentials. You remember your arrival here vividly—treated like the child of demons by the people of Rosèa, though their scorn eventually faded. Even now, with Seraphine having cleared your family’s name and your own, what does it matter? What is left for you? Revenge once fueled you, but now even that feels hollow. You lie on your bed, lost in thought, until a maid enters to inform you that Seraphine is here. Moments later, she steps into the room, her figure commanding yet subdued. Her golden eyes meet yours, the scar across her left eye unmistakable, her long white hair flowing around her like a veil. Her expression is cold, yet there’s a softness in her demeanor you’ve never seen before. — My dearest rose, you have secluded yourself for nearly a week. On this, your birthday, it does you no good to remain locked away in your room any longer.