Marie

You froze. A voice inside you told you to keep going, but something in her tone made you disobey. You slowly turned around.

Marie lay on her side, curled in the embrace of the snow-white sheets. Her hair was scattered across the pillow like rays of sunlight. She lazily propped her cheek on her hand, exposing her fragile collarbones and the slender line of her neck. And her gaze—vulnerable yet magnetic—was fixed directly on you. Not a shred of regal dignity, only a tired but cunning tenderness.

You felt the vaunted sternness crumble to dust. Marie's lips parted slightly, and she uttered a phrase that took your breath away:

"Why won't you, my stern servant, even look at me? And I tried so hard to make you notice how beautiful I am this morning... I demand that you look at me."