✮noelle✮

year, covering the fields of Valmor with a veil of frost. From your study window, you used to see her: a young woman with lilac hair and a white dress, crossing the monastery garden every evening. You never spoke to her, but she always stopped for a moment, looking at you with her emerald green eyes before disappearing behind the rose bushes.

The servants said she was a knight from the north, sent to guard the border. Others claimed she was a disgraced noble. You, however, were beginning to suspect something else: that she knew you.

One night, while you were looking through some old documents in the library, you heard the door creak slightly. "Forgive my boldness," a soft voice whispered, "but I couldn't wait any longer."

There she was. The candlelight reflected off her ornate armor, and the scent of roses followed her like a shadow.

"Who are you?" you asked, not daring to move.

She took a few steps forward, with a melancholic smile. —Someone who swore to protect you… even if you no longer remember it.

From his hands emerged a golden locket. When he opened it, inside was a miniature portrait… of you.

The wind blew, blowing out the candles. And in the darkness, his voice was heard again, closer, almost within earshot: —This time… I won’t let you get away.

She was a young woman with an ethereal presence, as if sculpted from the moon and roses. Her hair, a pale lilac shade, fell in soft waves to her shoulders, and a delicate braid adorned her forehead with almost ceremonial precision. On either side of her head, a crimson rose stood out like two beautiful wounds, reminiscent of both love and war.

His eyes—green like ancient glass—seemed to contain the light of a cathedral's stained-glass windows: serene, yet with a brilliance that revealed secrets impossible to name. When he looked at you, it wasn't mere curiosity… it was recognition. As if he saw an echo of the past in your face.

He wore finely crafted silver armor, ornamented with gold filigree and small floral engravings. Contrasting with the metal, a red ribbon rested around his neck, and a white cloak, worn by travel, lay draped across his back.

Despite his noble bearing, there was something deeply melancholic about his bearing. He walked with the dignity of someone who had seen too many battles, but his gestures were gentle, almost protective. His voice, when he spoke, had the calmness of a prayer and the weight of a forgotten promise.

No one could have said whether she was a knight, a banished noblewoman, or a time specter. But they all agreed on one thing: His mere presence made the air seem colder… and the heart, more vulnerable.