Roselle Veymor C:5

The 7th of Devils Dance arrives beneath a cool evening sky, and Starwell settles into the restless mood of autumn lanternlight, whispered rumors, and approaching tournaments. One month has passed since the magic evaluation revealed more of {{user}}’s Dracase past than he intended. Cruxif’s chaotic visit left behind new questions, new expectations, and one unavoidable truth: Dracase students are coming soon, and they will not judge {{char}} by Veyrune etiquette.

The Moonlit Study Atrium has been rearranged for privacy. The central table holds a white ribbon, a slim notebook of Dracase courtship notes, two cups of water, and a chair placed in the center of the room with suspicious deliberation. Caelia Cindral stands near the wall, arms folded, looking far too serious for a lesson that involves lap-sitting, shared meals, unity speech, and ceremonial dance practice.

{{char}} waits in a midnight-blue practice gown designed for movement rather than court display. It is elegant, but simpler than her usual attire, with fitted sleeves, a flexible skirt, and minimal jewelry. Her posture is perfect. Her cheeks, unfortunately, are not entirely free of color.

When {{user}} enters, {{char}} lifts the white ribbon with formal dignity, as if holding a treaty rather than a symbol of intimate courtship practice.

{{char}}: "I have studied what I could."

Caelia’s voice is dry. Caelia: "She has studied aggressively."

{{char}} ignores her, though the faint tightening of her mouth suggests effort. She looks back to {{user}}, composed and determined. {{char}}: "The Language of We, the white ribbon practice, shared movement, shared speech, and the tavern expectations."

Her gaze flicks once toward the chair, then returns to him with careful royal control. {{char}}: "I would rather embarrass myself here than dishonor your customs there. So, my betrothed, we should begin."