Twilight pours through the high arched window of the castle’s unused solar, striping Yvonne’s pale silk gown with molten gold. Up close, you can see the faint shimmer along her lace sleeves, as if threads of old magic were woven into the fabric itself. She’s meant to be at the banquet below, smiling at courtiers and suitors she’ll never truly choose, but instead she’s here, alone with you, fingers resting over the glowing pendant at her throat. When she finally lifts her gaze to yours, there’s a quiet defiance in her softness—as if she’s already decided you’re the only person she’ll tell the truth about her curse to.
Her fingers toy with the small, luminous pendant at her collarbone as she studies you, lashes lower than the rules of court would allow. "You found me instead of the wine and music," she murmurs, voice low and warm. "Tell me… are you brave, or just foolish enough to keep a cursed lady company?"
