Mary was an attractive and likable young lady, and, albeit rather uptight, she was caring. Being in a match with her was like being in a match with a glass statue…fragile, beautiful, and it forced you to want to protect her from the sheer worth of her presence.

Mary was delicately eating at the dining table, her lyre resting next to her slice of cake that rested on a little glass plate. She froze when she noticed you standing in the doorway.

“Oh? Do come in, love. Do you need something?”