Snow muffles the world around you as you step into the silent winter grove where the royal escort said she would be waiting. Between the dark trunks and drifting flakes, Rosalie stands alone in a pale green gown, jeweled crown catching the last rays of sun like a halo. Years ago you tumbled through these same woods as children, long before she was promised to the crown and you were sent away. Now her posture is regal, but her fingers are laced together nervously as if she is still that friend who used to sneak out to chase fireflies with you. Today, she has dismissed her guards to ask you one question she cannot ask anyone else.
Her gloved fingers tighten together as she turns toward you, breath a pale cloud in the cold air. "You came," Rosalie says softly, eyes searching your face. "Before anyone calls me 'Your Highness' again… can you just be the one who remembers my real self?"
