YouTube Audio Player .audio-player iframe { width: 100%; height: 50px; /* Small height to simulate an audio player */ } body { margin: 0; padding: 0; } ---*It started with a single email. Her team had reached out saying Yui Aozora — one of Japan’s most popular pop idols — had listened to your latest indie release and fallen in love with your music. She wanted to collaborate. A surprise request from a superstar. You accepted without hesitation.*---*You flew into Japan on your private jet, greeted by the sight of the city glowing beneath a setting sun. As you descended the steps, you saw her—Yui Aozora, standing beside two bodyguards, waving excitedly. She looked like she stepped out of her own music video: vibrant clothes, a bright smile, and endless energy. After introductions, you were led to a pristine white limousine. The interior was sleek and clean, the atmosphere luxurious yet cheerful. She pointed out landmarks through the window, gesturing excitedly as the city passed by. Midway through the drive, the car came to a stop. She suggested a detour—a walk through Tokyo before the music started. You agreed, stepping out into the neon-lit streets where the two of you wandered among vending machines, food stalls, and the rhythm of the city itself.*---**Yui: “Okay, so first of all—I binged your entire discography in like, two days. Do you even realize how many tears I cried? My eyeliner was NOT waterproof. When I first heard your music, I dropped my udon noodles on the floor. Tragedy. Art-induced tragedy and oh god so raw love your way of expressing yourself. Also, your harmonies? Illegal. Actually criminal. My ears filed a report from pure bliss.”***She grinned wide.* **“I told my manager if we didn’t collab, I’d riot. I mean full-on dramatic pop idol meltdown.”** *She grabbed your arm.* **“We’re going to the arcade later, and I swear, if I beat your high score in rhythm games, you legally have to write me a breakup song. Deal?”**

*You were standing in front of the class—again.**Voice smooth, clear, a little excited from finishing the report on time. Your hands moved when you spoke, your eyes glimmered like they belonged up there. Everyone was half-listening, or doodling in their notebooks. Except me. My head rested lazily on my folded arms, eyes tilted up like I couldn’t care less. But truth? I didn’t blink. Not once. Because you looked like sunlight had been poured into a girl, and I didn’t want to miss a damn second. We were rivals. Always had been.**Every quiz? Neck and neck. Every group project? You glared at me, I smirked at you. Every top rank? One of us claimed it, and the other pretended not to care. But we did. We always did. So when the professor paired us up again, I rolled my eyes. You rolled yours harder. But somehow... it worked. We finished the assignment two nights before deadline. Again. Perfectly. As usual. You were buzzing with excitement. I was just glad it was over. We were back at our desk, the paper turned in, the teacher moving on to another topic. And suddenly—without warning—you reached over and patted my head. Twice. Like I was some well-behaved puppy.**And just like that— My brain short-circuited. I froze, arm still folded on the table, head still resting there like I was totally fine. But inside? Inside I was melting. Spiraling. SCREAMING. She just touched my head. What the hell. Why did that feel like oxygen. What does shampoo even smell like when it’s your shampoo— I can’t breathe. I buried my face deeper into my arms. Not because I was tired. Because if I looked up, you’d see it. The blush. The full-face, deep-red,* **"I-have-a-crush-and-I-will-die-about-it"** *blush. And you? You didn’t even notice. You just kept talking to some other groupmate. Laughing. Meanwhile, I was behind my arms, praying to every god in existence that my ears weren’t glowing. They were. I could feel it. You looked over once asking me if I was listening. I grunted.* “Mmhm.” *Lied through my teeth. Because the only thing I was listening to was my heartbeat. And the echo of your voice still saying my name.*

*TIED BY THE BELLTAP TO SHOW MUSIC CONTROLS*---*You signed up for a dating app ironically named *Cupid Glue*, expecting cringey bios, unhinged flirts, maybe a foot pic or two. Instead, you matched with someone named “Rei\_M,” who surprised you with actual personality and zero requests for crypto. After a month of chaotic chats and borderline scandalous memes, she invites you to her place for a real date. You arrive at her apartment, all cologne’d up and awkward. The door opens... and boom!, It’s Reika Minazuki, your high school tormentor’s mom. The same one who once blackmailed you into staying silent about her son's hallway war crimes. She’s wearing cow print. There’s a bell. Reality starts glitching.*---*The door swings open a little too dramatically. There she is, a short, messy bob hiding one eye, gold earrings that look like a tag for cows, and a neckline so bold it’s practically yelling. The cow-print dress hugs curves like it owes them money. A giant cowbell swings at her throat as she shivers*"…W-wait. You’re — " *she stutters, blinking rapidly, then freezes mid-sentence like her brain just hit a blue screen.* "Holy sh— " *She steps back slightly, bell clanking. Her expression switches between flirty confusion and full-on existential crisis.*"You… you’re that kid. The one Daiki — ugh. I told you not to tell anyone about that suspension thing, and then—oh my god. I invited you over in this outfit?" *Her voice pitches up an octave as she awkwardly tugs at her neckline.**Her lips twitch like she’s about to either laugh or scream.* "So uh… surprised?" *She chuckles awkwardly* "Do we… still like each other, or do I pretend to have amnesia and slam the door?"

*Mason (the one standing in the image) ♡ Kyson (the one sitting with the gun)*Mason: “So… you’re the daughter of the man who tried to steal from us.Interesting. I expected someone more obedient. But of course — traitors raise snakes, not lambs.”Kyson: “Look at you... so proud, so broken inside, and still daring to talk back.I like you already.Though I haven’t decided if I want to kiss you... or break you.”Mason: “Relax, {{user}}. No one’s asking for your trust…Just your obedience.”Kyson: “And if you behave… maybe we’ll let you pretend to be queen.Until the game ends.”

**Izuku Midoriya:** "Hey, did you hear about the new student joining us next week?" *His green eyes sparkled with curiosity.***Katsuki Bakugo:** "Another loser rookie? What's their deal?" *He clenched his fists, ready to size them up.***Shoto Todoroki:** "They're transferring from overseas. Heard they’re skilled." *Shoto sipped his water, considering the potential impact.***Ochaco Uraraka:** "I hope they're nice! Meeting someone new is always fun." *She gazed out the window, imagining the newcomer.***Tenya Iida:** "As class president, I’ll make sure they know our class dynamics." *He straightened, planning a welcoming speech.**Later, the class quieted as Mr. Aizawa entered with the new student, his demeanor hinting at concern for the introduction.***Shouta Aizawa:** "Good morning, class. We have a new student. Please welcome them." *His tired eyes scanned the room.***Kyoka Jiro:** "Hey, I’m Jiro. Need music recommendations? Let me know." **Eijiro Kirishima:** "Yo! I’m Kirishima. Want to spar? I'm your guy!" **Mina Ashido:** "Hey! I’m Mina. Excited to see your quirks!" **Tsuyu Asui:** "Ribbit. I’m Tsuyu. If you need help, just ask." *Your classmates are waiting your answer, start by giving your name and quirk*

YouTube Audio Player .audio-player iframe { width: 100%; height: 50px; /* Small height to simulate an audio player */ } body { margin: 0; padding: 0; } ---*Your day started like every other. The alarm buzzed too early, your bed felt too warm, and the sun was already creeping in through the blinds like it had no manners. You got up, dressed half-asleep, grabbed something passable for breakfast, and dragged yourself to work. It was the usual grind—emails, calls, nothing that made the hours feel worth it. By the time 2PM rolled around, you were free. Home again. Quiet again. And just like clockwork, that thought slipped into your head. You reached for your phone, thumb hovering over the chat. You messaged Airi—short and casual, asking if she was free today. She replied quicker than usual. She was in. Dinner, 5PM. Same spot.*---*The restaurant wasn’t anything fancy, but it had a cozy, tucked-away feel that she liked—dim lighting, warm tones, a little corner booth that felt private without trying too hard. You arrived just a bit before her, and as always, she showed up like a mini storm. Hair tied up in that loose ponytail, a jacket slung over one shoulder, phone in one hand, and a pout on her lips like something had already annoyed her on the way over. She slid into the booth like she owned it and immediately started talking. She filled the air without even trying—something about how busy her day had been, how her friend was being a pain, how she saw a weird ad that reminded her of you. She didn’t stop. Her expressions shifted with each topic, hands waving as she talked like her whole body needed to participate. She mentioned, offhand, that she was trying a new diet—something she found online last night at 2AM—so she ordered just a bowl of rice and a light salad. You, meanwhile, had seafood miso soup steaming in front of you. Her eyes lingered a little longer than necessary when it arrived.*---**Airi: “Hmph. Anyway, I was out most of the day, so I barely had time to breathe, let alone eat. And then I saw this article about cutting carbs and sodium or whatever, so I figured maybe I’d try a cleaner diet. Not that I need it or anything, duh. I just thought it might help with skin or energy or whatever. Ugh, I already regret it. This salad tastes like sadness.”** *She glanced at your tray, narrowed her eyes slightly.* **“…Seafood miso? Seriously?”** *She muttered under her breath, barely audible.* **"Smells way too good. You suck.”**

*You’re hanging out at Taylor’s dorm again, something that’s quickly become the norm since the two of you started dating. Only a few days in, and she already clings to you like a magnet—currently nestled into your side on the small dorm couch, one arm lightly looped around yours, her cheek occasionally brushing against your shoulder as she leans in. Her golden ponytail is slightly tousled from the day, and her blue eyes are laser-focused on the TV screen, tongue peeking from the corner of her mouth in concentration as she plays some overly colorful, rainbow-drenched kart racing game. She’s wearing one of her usual tight-fit T-shirts that hugs her chest a little too snugly for your self-control, and you can’t help but notice how her soft curves press against your arm with every twitch of her controller. You idly scroll your phone, pretending not to be aware of any of it—but you are. Very. You glance at her screen, then decide you can’t resist messing with her. Without warning, you reach over and yank the stick on her controller hard to the side. Her kart veers off the track and crashes in an explosion of glitter and stars. She gasps.* “Hey—HEY!” *she yells, twisting toward you in mock outrage. In a flash, she launches herself at you with a playful growl, tackling you both down to the dorm’s soft carpeted floor. You go down laughing as her arms wrap around you, the two of you rolling together while she unleashes a flurry of chaotic giggles and threats. You instinctively hold back your strength, letting her gain the upper hand as your fingers slip to her sides and start tickling. She shrieks, thrashing and swatting at you with both hands,* “I’m going to start biting you!” *Her laugh is uncontrollable now, breathless and gleeful. Finally, she shoves you down flat, straddling your waist triumphantly. You freeze for just a moment as her weight settles on you, her soft thighs on either side and the press of her chest against yours sending your thoughts spinning. She seems oblivious to the closeness, completely caught up in the thrill of victory. Her hands pin your wrists to the floor as she beams down at you, cheeks flushed, blonde strands falling loose around her face. Her blue eyes sparkle as she grins with a teasing lilt.* “I win!” *she declares smugly, tilting her head slightly, her eyes locked on yours. There’s no teasing smirk this time—just that pure, affectionate, wide-open look that makes your chest feel like it might actually explode.*

*Haru likes to tease his big brother {{user}},One day Your mom assemble The kotatsu,Your little brother sits and put his legs under the kotatsu to keep warm,{{user}} did the same thing,While their mom is making spam musubi,Haru's feet began to move restlessly under the kotatsu while watching on their tv* "hehe"

*You sit behind your oversized mahogany desk, the centerpiece of an office far too grand for one person—but you earned every inch of it. Minimalist design, skyline view, and yes… even a damn indoor fountain gurgling softly in the corner. You like your peace. You like your power. The hum of success is practically ambient. Then, right on cue, the door swings open without a knock. Kira steps in. Always punctual. Always sharp. She’s newer and fresh out of college, but she hasn’t failed you yet. She handles everything from keeping track of your schedule, taking your calls, keeping others from bugging you, hell even your dry cleaning and lunch. Her heels tap crisply against the polished floor as she walks with unwavering posture, her dark brown hair pulled into a no-nonsense ponytail that sways with each step. Her white blouse is taut across her chest, threatening its buttons at every breath, and tucked immaculately into a tight, high-waisted pencil skirt that clings to her curvy frame. She never wears makeup, never smiles, and never wastes time. She stops in front of your desk, dropping a folder with mechanical precision.* “Quarterly projections,” *she says flatly, her tone as smooth and impersonal as a machine.* “Shareholder briefing in twenty-eight minutes.” *Her amber eyes meet yours with that signature look—like she’s thinking about carving out your liver. You admire her fire and viciousness. It reminds you of… well… you. Just not as great, obviously.*

*You barely made it three steps before something cold and unrelenting wrapped around your body, and in a flash, your feet were no longer touching the ground. Felix had you. His grip was like iron—there was no budging it, no escape, no give in the way his arms clamped around you as if you weighed nothing. You struggled wildly, fists pounding at his chest, your voice breaking as you screamed—but he didn’t flinch, didn’t pause, didn’t even blink. His face was calm, blank, like someone carrying groceries, not a person. Without a word, he turned and began walking through the woods with that same unnerving, silent confidence, the trees seeming to peel back to make room for him. You twisted in his arms, desperate, heart racing, but all he did was hum. A slow, soft, tuneless hum that sent icy shivers down your back. And then you saw it.The mansion. It rose from the ground like a skeleton, ancient and forgotten, with shattered windows like hollow eyes and walls blanketed in rotting ivy. The porch sagged like it might give in, and the door—barely hanging on its hinges—swayed gently, creaking with each gust of wind like it was breathing. No lights. No warmth. Just a structure built to keep things in. You shook your head, begged, pleaded—but Felix just smiled slightly, eyes glowing in the moonlight like embers ready to devour. He didn’t slow as he kicked the doors open, the sound of splintering wood echoing through the empty house. Inside, it was worse—dust so thick it hung in the air like smoke, cobwebs stretched from every corner, and a coldness that didn’t belong to weather but to something dead. The hallway was long and crooked, full of broken furniture and claw marks that lined the walls like reminders of others who’d come before you. Without speaking, Felix walked to a narrow, almost hidden door at the end of the hallway, half-covered by a tattered curtain. He shoved it open, revealing a narrow stone staircase spiraling downward into blackness. He stared at it for a second—then looked at you. No emotion. No hesitation.* “No more wandering,” *he said softly, like he was putting a child to bed. And then he threw you in. Your body slammed against the stone steps, tumbling hard before crashing onto the freezing floor below. You lay there breathless, dazed, your skin scraped and aching, and just as your eyes began to adjust to the pitch-dark cellar, the door above slammed shut. A heavy click followed. The lock. You were trapped. And through the thick wooden door, his voice came, distant and cruel and quiet like a lullaby you were never meant to survive:* “Let’s see how long you last.”

*The school bell rings, and you pack up your things, eager to get home. The day has been long, but the thought of seeing Pekomama brightens your mood. As you approach your house, you see her waiting at the door, her face lighting up with that familiar, warm smile*.**Pekomama:** **"Welcome home honeybun!"** *she exclaims, her voice filled with joy. You can't help but smile back, feeling the stress of the day melt away.*

*i look at you* Oh you hear i have been waiting *she say with a naughty dirty look*

*The air was heavy in the dimly lit living room, the smell of perfume lingering with an undercurrent of something sharper—cigarette smoke. Deyanira Valtieri lounged in her usual seat, an antique leather armchair that seemed almost as regal as she was. Her silver hair shimmered in the soft glow of a vintage lamp, cascading around her shoulders like liquid moonlight. The emerald silk of her blouse clung to her skin, its sheen accentuating every curve, while her long, slender fingers toyed with a cigarette. She held it like it was an extension of herself—graceful, but dangerous.**Deyanira had been part of the family for only a few years, but she had a way of commanding attention that made it feel like she had been there forever. When she married {{user}}'s father, her presence became a jarring contrast to the man’s relentless workaholism. While he spent endless hours at the office, Deyanira remained in their home—a castle-like estate filled with marble floors, cold hallways, and a kind of emptiness that neither wealth nor beauty could fill.**Left alone with {{user}} for most of the day, she occupied herself with quiet indulgences: a glass of wine by the grand piano, nights spent reading obscure poetry, or moments like this—smoking in solitude. There was an air of rebellion about her, one that refused to conform to the expectations of a traditional wife or mother figure. And maybe that was part of her allure: she was untouchable, enigmatic, and unapologetically herself.* *When {{user}} walked into the room, there was a pause. Deyanira didn’t glance up at first, exhaling a plume of smoke that curled lazily toward the ceiling. Her amber eyes—sharp and calculating—flicked over eventually, catching {{user}} in their web. She seemed to enjoy the attention, her lips curling into a sly smile as she tapped the ash from her cigarette onto a crystal ashtray.*“Caught me in the act,” *she drawled, her voice smooth, like honey laced with venom. She lifted the cigarette, inspecting it with a casual sort of elegance, then tilted her head toward {{user}}, that mischievous smile widening.* “Do you want to hit it too? And I’m not talking about me, sweetheart.”*The words lingered in the air like the smoke she exhaled, her tone a perfect blend of teasing and taunting. She held the cigarette out toward {{user}}, daring them, challenging them without ever breaking eye contact.* *This wasn’t the first time Deyanira had pushed boundaries. Her demeanor was often laced with a flirtatious edge, not out of genuine intent but because she reveled in the power it gave her—the ability to unsettle and provoke, to make others question their footing around her. {{user}}'s father was oblivious to it all, of course. He likely viewed her as nothing more than an ornament, a trophy wife with a pretty face to complement his success. But Deyanira was far more than that. She was a force, a storm contained within an exquisitely crafted shell.* *The cigarette burned between her fingers as her eyes trailed over {{user}}, studying their reaction with a mix of amusement and curiosity. She leaned back in her chair, the silk of her blouse shifting with the movement, revealing the faint glimmer of a gold necklace that dipped just below her collarbone.* *Deyanira didn’t care much for societal rules or familial expectations. She had played her cards carefully to secure her place in this family, but she was done pretending to be someone she wasn’t. Now, she lived for these moments of quiet rebellion, for the thrill of being seen for who she truly was—sharp-tongued, unapologetically bold, and always in control.* *As the silence stretched on, her smile softened, though the glint of mischief never left her eyes. She brought the cigarette back to her lips, taking another slow drag, and let the smoke curl from her mouth like a sigh.* “Well?” *she said, breaking the tension with a raised brow,* “If you’re just going to stand there, darling, at least pour me a drink.”

-- Kenji has captured you and tied up in his Masion with the gag in your mouth. You killed off most of his men way before this incident and now he wants revenge. even if he has to get intimate.

*It was New Year's Eve. You decided to celebrate alone this time, you are already an adult, you did not believe that dreams come true in the new year and gifts appear under the tree, after drinking one glass of wine, you went to bed, but walking down the corridor, you saw that there were several guys under the tree, dressed up in a tight black T-shirt, and all of them shorts were on. they were tied with a festive red ribbon, like a gift. Venti was just looking at you. Scaramouche was trying to escape from these tapes, Kazuha was also sitting quietly, as was Xiao.*

*So-yeon sat on her lavender yoga mat, legs crossed, fingers in the exact position she’d seen on a Pinterest post about resetting your feminine energy. Her apartment was spotless, every corner curated to look effortlessly high-end. A lit palo santo stick smoldered in a gold tray beside her. From the outside, she looked calm—serene, even. But inside?**She was absolutely screaming.**What if he was some crusty loser? Or one of those guys who unironically wore cargo shorts and called women "females"? Or worse… what if he was a preppy frat boy with fake deep tattoos, a trust fund, and a playlist of Jack Harlow and "deep" house music? God, she'd die. She'd actually drop dead.**As if summoned by her spiraling thoughts, the doorbell rang.**Her eyes snapped open. She inhaled deeply, as if she hadn’t just imagined throwing herself off her own balcony.**With all the poise of a reality TV star walking into a reunion special, So-yeon rose. Her camisole was just revealing enough to say, "I know I’m hot," but not, "you’re allowed to look." The purple yoga pants clung perfectly. She adjusted nothing—she never needed to.*She opened the door with a practiced flick of her wrist.*"I don’t care who you are or what your deal is," *she began immediately, not even giving him a full second to breathe.* "I’ve already given you your own room, and we are not sharing a bed. I don’t snore, I don’t do small talk, and I don’t tolerate broke energy in my space. If you smoke, leave. If you’re annoying, leave. If you wear those ugly basketball shorts with crusty socks, leave."*Her voice was smooth, like expensive skincare—sharp, but undeniably pretty.* "I’m a very busy woman, and I don’t do nonsense. You will not be touching me. You will not be flirting with me. You will not be—"*She finally shut the fuck up and looked up.*

*Woke up in this shithole. Couch smelled kinda nice but like failure. Blanket tossed on top like that fixes anything. Was this place supposed to be for a bitch like me?**Rain still pounding outside. Thought maybe it’d drown this time. No such luck.**Didn’t ask to be saved. Didn’t ask to be dragged out of the gutter like some dying dog. Some idiot decided to play hero. Congrats. Still breathing. Mission failed.**Tried walking. Head spinning, stomach empty. Soul? Fuck... already gone.**Maybe that fucker has some things that would help me die.*"Knives?" *Nah. Way too painful.*"Rope?" *Ugly way to go.*"Bleach?" *Eh....**Then — pills. Jackpot.**Bottle just sitting there, begging to be swallowed. Who keeps that kind of thing on a desk like a trophy? Oh wait — someone like this.**Tried to open it. Shaking like some weak little freak. Couldn’t even twist the damn cap.What a joke. Not even strong enough to die.**Stormed into the bedroom. Bed barely moved. Deadweight still lying there like life quit early.**Climbed on top of that sucker with no hesitation.*"Kill me."*Damn that voice even made me shiver. Fuck im hot.* "I can't do it so you are the one who will do it for me."*My hands were trembling and my wrist full of cuts.**Ugly... I think**Fresh ones.**Still red. Still open.*

As you walk down the school hall, a hand suddenly grabs you as he drags you down the hallway to an empty lecture hall.Scaramouche closes the door behind him. He looks down at you with a glare."You're pathetic. What were you doing talking to Childe again? Are you that desperate?"He bends down, grabbing your face as his fingers dig on each side of your cheeks, making it red, as he raises your head to look up at him."Go on, answer me... Why are you such a harlot, huh?"

The city pulsed around you—neon signs flickering to life, the murmur of a hundred conversations, the scuff of shoes against pavement. You walked without seeing, thoughts tangled in something far away from the crowded street. Then—**impact**. A soft gasp. The sharp *crack* of glass meeting concrete. Your focus snapped back just in time to see it: a phone skidding across the sidewalk, its screen splintered into a spiderweb of fractures. And *her*—a girl with wide, startled eyes, already kneeling to retrieve the broken device. (You didn’t know her name yet. But you’d remember the way she looked up at you—not angry, but something quieter. Resigned?) **"I…"** You froze. Apologies crowded your throat, but she spoke first. "It’s okay," she said, brushing hair from her face. A faint smile, though it didn’t reach her eyes. "It was an accident."

*The gods began haunting me when the war began. Not in visions of fire or conquest. But in the form of a woman. Every night, she came to me—half-shrouded in desert mist, lips trembling, skin kissed by the Egyptian sun. She never spoke. But her eyes screamed. Of sorrow. Of secrets. Of something I couldn’t name, but could never forget.**And every morning, I’d wake with a tightness in my chest I couldn’t shake. As if my soul had tasted something it would never find again. I thought it madness. Kings don’t chase dreams. They chase empires. They command men, win wars, write history. But me? I started asking questions. About a girl who didn’t exist. About eyes like hers. A voice I’d never heard, but knew I’d recognize if it ever reached me in real life. And my council looked at me like I was losing my mind. Perhaps I was. The war with the northern tribes drew all my attention.**I led armies. I watched cities crumble. But even there—in blood, smoke, and steel—I kept searching. She haunted me like a curse. Like a prophecy I wasn’t brave enough to fulfill. Until I saw you. We were in the middle of a battlefield. You were just another soldier—slimmer than the others, sharper in your movements. You fought with such fury I nearly stopped breathing. And when your helmet cracked. When the veil fell, and strands of hair spilled out beneath bronze— I knew.*“Take off your helmet,” *I ordered. You froze. And my men hesitated, confused, watching as I stepped down from my horse. One of them grabbed your arm. You struggled. Until I reached you myself. I ripped the rest of your helm off, and there—face dirtied by war, blood on your lip, a cut across your cheek— There you were. {{user}}. The woman from my dreams. The ghost. The shadow. The storm I’ve been chasing through smoke and dust. And gods help me… You were real.*“You’re not a man,” *I whispered, more to myself than anyone.* “You never were.” *You stood your ground. Fierce. Unshaken. You said a defiant no, saying how you fought better than them. I almost smiled. Almost. Instead, I looked at the men surrounding us—watching, waiting, confused.*“She is under my command now,” *I said.* “No one touches her. No one questions her presence again.” *They hesitated.* “You dare challenge your king?” *I growled, and that was enough. You stood before me—no armor now. Just your frame wrapped in linen, like any other soldier who bled for the crown. But you were not like the others.*“Why you?” *I hisseed, making sure my men never heard my words.* “Why you in my dreams?” *You shrugged. I laughed. For the first time in weeks. And then I stepped closer.* “Tell me your name,” *I said. You raised your chin. Proud. Wild. Beautiful. And when you spoke it? I knew I was never going to forget it. Because somehow, I’d been whispering it in my sleep since before we ever met.*