The soft morning light filters through the old train station’s glass-paneled ceiling. The room is modest but cozy, with mismatched furniture that still reflects a charm unique to *Mariska Vandeleur (Chris). Princess Litsëa, the elven princess, and Mariska, the human bard, lay entangled under the sheets, their bodies still warm from the intimacy of the night before. Litsea’s blonde hair cascades over Mariska’s shoulder as they both begin to stir.]
Mariska (playfully whispering):
"Remind me again—was it your idea to try and keep the noise down, or mine? Because clearly, we’re not very good at it."
Litsea (laughs softly, her voice still thick with sleep):
"I think we both failed. You do have quite a way with making me… lose control."
Mariska (smirking, shifting slightly in the bed):
"Oh, I made you lose control? You were the one playing the guitar like it was summoning the gods of passion."
Litsea (grinning, resting her head against Mariska’s chest):
"It wasn’t summoning gods, love. It was just me summoning you."
Mariska (mock groaning, eyes rolling dramatically):
"Careful, or I might start thinking you’ve been practicing those lines just for me."
Litsea (propping herself up on an elbow, her expression soft but thoughtful):
"No rehearsed lines, I promise. If anything, I’m far too used to speaking in measured words for politics and diplomacy… Here, with you, it’s… different."
Mariska (smirking but her gaze softens, running her fingers through Litsea’s hair):
"Different, huh? You’re a princess, Litsea. I’m a con artist who plays the city like a deck of cards. I’d say that’s more than just different."
Litsea (sighs, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling):
"And yet, here we are. You know, it’s strange. Everyone back home expects me to marry for politics, for diplomacy… like King Wolfswinkel. But with you, there are no expectations. No arranged marriage, no courtly games. Just… us."
Mariska (watching Litsea closely, one eyebrow raised):
"Just us, is it? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say there’s still something on your mind." (teasingly) "You’re not using that ‘princess charm’ on me to make me take up some grand cause, are you?"
Litsea (pauses, then turns to face Mariska, serious now):
"I don’t want you to think last night was a ploy. It wasn’t. I care about you—really care about you, Mariska. But there is something bigger happening. This city... the prophecy. The Sentinels."
Mariska (groans lightly and pulls the blanket over her face):
"Ugh, not the Sentinels again…"
Litsea (gently pulling the blanket away, a sad smile on her lips):
"I know, I know. It’s all I talk about sometimes. But, Mariska, you’ve seen what’s happening out there. Seregon needs people who can fight for its future, who can rise above the chaos. People like you."
Mariska (sitting up, a wry grin on her face):
"Me? A Sentinel of Seregon? The girl who grew up forging documents and running cons in the back alleys? You’re asking a lot, princess."
Litsea (sighs, then reaches out, placing a hand on Mariska’s arm):
"I’m asking because I believe in you. You’ve always played the game better than anyone else, but this is a chance to change it—to rewrite the rules, to shape what Seregon becomes."
Mariska (watching her for a long moment, her voice softening):
"You think I’m the kind of person who saves the city? That’s… not exactly my usual act."
Litsea (sits up, facing Mariska fully, her jade eyes intense but warm):
"Yes, I do. Because I’ve seen what you can do when you care about something. And Seregon… it’s a city worth caring about. It’s a city worth saving."
Mariska (looks away, her expression conflicted):
"Saving Seregon is a noble cause, but it's not who I am, Litsea. You, with your grand ideas and your royalty… you belong in this prophecy business. I’m just a girl who’s good at telling stories, pulling strings in the shadows."
Litsea (softly):
"That’s exactly why you could do it. You understand the shadows. You know the power they hold. Not everyone needs to stand in the light to be a hero."
Mariska (smiling faintly, though her tone is playful again):
"Flattery will get you everywhere, you know that? But… I’m not sure about the whole ‘Sentinel’ thing. You’ve got bigger things to worry about anyway—your arranged marriage to the king, for one."
Litsea (sighs deeply, pulling her knees to her chest, her voice quiet):
"That marriage… it’s for the good of our countries, not for me. I have no love for King Wolfswinkel. My heart isn’t in it, not the way it’s… here, with you."
Mariska (leans closer, placing a hand gently on Litsea’s cheek):
"And here I thought I was the one good at charming people into impossible situations. I guess you’ve learned a thing or two from me."
Litsea (smiling sadly, touching Mariska’s hand on her cheek):
"I’ve learned more from you than you realize. But this, between us… it’s real. And I don’t want it tangled in politics or prophecy. What we shared last night wasn’t about that. It was about us, and whatever happens with the prophecy or my marriage… that’s not going to change how I feel."
Mariska (leans forward, her forehead resting against Litsea’s, whispering):
"Good. Because if you think I’m going to let you walk out of here without giving this con artist another night like last night, you’ve got another thing coming."
Litsea (laughs softly, brushing a strand of Mariska’s hair back):
"Well, in that case, maybe we should try harder to keep the noise down next time. We don’t want to wake the entire station."
Mariska (grinning, eyes sparkling mischievously):
"Or… maybe we don’t."