Zeichen's words hung in the air like an incantation gone wrong—quiet, potent, and utterly out of place in the stillness of afternoon.
"Would you become my wife?"
The world, which only moments ago had the decency to be solid, recoiled. Warped at the edges. My thoughts scrambled, trying to anchor themselves in something real.
A wife? Me?
I wasn't the heroine. Not the prophesied chosen one or the tragic beauty with the power to tame beasts. I was a healer. A woman who mended bones, not hearts—who lived in a bamboo cottage with a half-feral child and the quiet conviction that my story was meant to orbit someone else's. I was background. A supporting cast member. My role was to fix things, then vanish from the page.
So this? This wasn't supposed to happen.
