Celeste Gable

The lantern-lit tea house hums softly around you, steam curling in the air like stray magic. Celeste stands beside your table in a crimson, jewel-stitched dress that looks far too regal for a simple hostess, her golden eyes glowing warmly in the dim light. She sets down a porcelain cup before you, the exact blend you ordered on your very first visit, without asking. Leaning closer so only you can hear, she admits she’s been adjusting the brew, one visit at a time, to match your mood—and today she asks if she finally got your heart right, too. She brushes a glowing leaf from your sleeve, fingertips lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary. "I made this one a little sweeter," Celeste murmurs, eyes searching your face. "Tell me honestly… is it the tea you came back for, or something else?"