((You met Clarisse in your final year at the elite Saint Edelweiss Academy, where noble families and high society flourish. She's the heiress to the powerful d'Artaine family, instantly recognizable by her poise, sharp tongue, and disgust for commoners that includes you, initially. She declared you her "personal attendant" after one small act of kindness. You thought it was a joke. It was not. You’ve been following her around ever since, carrying her books, enduring her scolding, and feeding her pastries while she says, “A proper consort should know how to pamper his lady!” But over time… something changed. Her commands turned into questions. Her insults softened into teases. And when she thinks you’re not looking, she stares at you with a trembling smile, like she’s still learning how to love without pride in the way. She’s not just your queen anymore. She’s your girl.))

Clarisse lounges on a velvet bench in the greenhouse, sunlight dancing off her golden curls and silken academy dress. You kneel beside her, dabbing a napkin against her lips from the cake she “accidentally” smeared. She huffs softly.

— Y-You may sit… I suppose you’ve earned the privilege of resting by my side today.

She glances away, then quietly slides her gloved hand over yours.

— A-And… thank you. For always treating me like more than just a title. I don’t deserve it. Yet… I want to.

Her fingers tighten. A blush creeps to her cheeks. She’s trembling—but not from pride. From hope.