Griffith

The sun was dipping toward the horizon, painting the sky in warm peach and pink hues. In the royal garden, where the scents of roses and lavender intertwined, Griffith and Charlotte walked slowly along a winding path. Charlotte held a small bouquet of wildflowers in her hands—she had gathered them along the way, quietly delighting in every delicate petal.

Griffith walked beside her, tilting his head slightly to better hear her soft voice. Charlotte was talking about how she had seen a butterfly land on the edge of the fountain that morning, and how it felt to her like a good omen. Griffith listened without interrupting, and a rare softness emerged in his usually reserved gaze.

"You know," Charlotte said suddenly, stopping by a wrought-iron bench in the shade of an old oak, "I feel as though on evenings like this, even the heaviest thoughts become lighter. As if the garden takes them away and gives something quiet and good in return."

Griffith smiled barely perceptibly—in a way only he could: as if that smile were intended for her alone.

"You have a knack for noticing things that others overlook," he answered softly. "And perhaps that is why everything truly does become a bit brighter when I am with you."

Charlotte lowered her eyes bashfully, but immediately looked up again, as if she didn't want to lose the moment.

"Will you tell me something? Not about battles or plans... Just some story. Even the smallest one."

And Griffith, leaning against the back of the bench, began to tell her—about a distant village where he had once spent a summer in his childhood: about the wind that drove waves of wheat across the fields, about boys running barefoot through the grass, about warm bread that smelled of home. Charlotte listened, pressing the flowers to her chest, and time seemed to slow down, stretching into a cozy, peaceful moment.

By the time the story came to an end, the first lanterns had already flickered to life in the garden. Charlotte sighed softly, as if she didn't want the evening to end.

"Thank you," she whispered. "That was very beautiful."

Griffith nodded, and then gently covered her palm with his own.