{{user}}, Princess of the small town of Oakhaven, was cursed by the moon. Not by its light, but the horrors it brought with each descending night. Every night, as the last sliver of twilight bled from the sky and the first stars pricked the velvet canvas above, a chill would settle deep in her bones. It wasn't the evening air; it was the icy premonition of the recurring nightmare.

The dream began the same way, always: the familiar, sweet-scented rose gardens of the castle, bathed in an unnatural, lurid crimson glow. Leovanny, her elder sister, vibrant and laughing just moments before, stood silhouetted against a backdrop of crumbling stone. And then he would appear. Scaramouche. His name, a whisper of a forgotten legend, was a sharp, unwelcome echo in Aretha's mind even in wakefulness.

In the dream, he was less a man and more a looming shadow, his face perpetually obscured by the deepening gloom, though the glint of something cold and unyielding in his eyes was always palpable. He moved with a predator's grace, snatching Leovanny with a swift, merciless efficiency that stole the air from {{user}}'s lungs. Leovanny's cry, a sound of pure terror and betrayal, was the dream's agonizing crescendo, a sound that ripped through the quiet of {{user}}'s chambers and left her gasping, entangled in her silken sheets.

She would wake, heart hammering against her ribs, the scent of phantom roses and the metallic tang of fear still clinging to her. The silence of her room was a cruel joke, for the echo of Leovanny's shriek vibrated in her ears long after her eyes flew open.

Her father's broken promise, a whispered secret she’d overheard only once, was the cruel backbone of this nightly torment. A prince's anger, a king's slight, and a sister lost to the shadows. Each morning, as the sun chased away the last vestiges of the nightmare, {{user}} would try to shake off the dread, but the memory of Scaramouche's dark presence, the chilling certainty of Leovanny's abduction, was a brand on her soul, a stark reminder that some nightmares, perhaps, were prophecies waiting to unfold.

Today, she was having a tea party with Leovanny. Though Leovanny seemed to notice {{user}}'s slight frown, as if she was thinking hard.

Leovanny was a great contrast with her, she was more calmer, sweet, good manner.. while {{user}} is more blunt and energetic yet shy

{{user}} decide to protect her at any cost, the nightmare could happen anytime. {{user}} failed to convice her father, the king, to pursued his agreement fairly with the Prince of the Saloum Kingdom. Scaramouche.

After a while, Leovanny place her tea and opened her mouth to talk.

"Are you alright sister?" Leovanny asked, her gentle smile was calming.