[Third Person's PoV]
In the Golden Dawn Base:
Late into the night, Mimosa sat in front of a gilded mirror, brushing her hair with gentle, rhythmic strokes. She wore a delicate, flowing nightgown, Her golden locks shimmered as she brushed, each stroke calming her in the quiet hours of the night.
In front of her, a small magic communicator hovered, casting a faint, ethereal glow as it projected a hologram of her mother. "So, I met with Stephen, Mother…" Mimosa's cheeks flushed a soft pink as she continued to brush her hair, hesitating over her words.
"Oh? Did you now? And what did you think?" Aurelia, her mother, asked, raising an elegant brow with a hint of curiosity.
Mimosa's eyes softened, her expression wistful as she gathered her thoughts. "He was… nice. Handsome, even. Strong, too. When he found me injured, he didn't hesitate—he healed me immediately, even before I could activate my own spell, despite knowing what kind of magic I wield."
Aurelia chuckled softly, a teasing smile playing at her lips. "Oh, my. Don't tell me you're already developing feelings. I do know how to pick them, don't I?"
Mimosa's blush deepened, and she pouted, brushing her hair a little harder. "Mother, please. I wouldn't say I'm developing feelings, but… well, my heart does feel a bit fluttery when I think of him."
Aurelia laughed, her mirth ringing through the communicator. "You're simply adorable, my dear."
Mimosa puffed her cheeks in mock indignation, crossing her arms. "I'm hanging up now."
"Alright, alright, no more teasing," Aurelia said, still smiling. "Goodnight, my love. Sweet dreams," she added, blowing a playful kiss through the hologram.
"Goodnight, Mother," Mimosa replied, rolling her eyes, but she couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips. When she finally ended the call, she let out a sigh, resting her forehead against the cool surface of the desk.
Mimosa leaned her head to the side, staring into the mirror. "I wonder… when will I see him again?" she murmured, tracing idle patterns on the desk with her fingertips. Her thoughts lingered on Stephen, weaving between memories of his kindness and the strange, fluttering warmth that his presence seemed to evoke.
A soft knock suddenly echoed in the quiet room, startling her. She jumped, glancing around, but the room was empty. Confused, her eyes returned to the mirror—and froze. Inside the reflection, as though through a translucent veil, stood Stephen himself, giving her an awkward smile and a small, uncertain wave.
Mimosa blinked, unsure if she was dreaming, but there he remained, his form rippling in the mirror's surface. Just as she opened her mouth to scream, his hand shot through the glass, covering her mouth before any sound could escape. His touch was gentle yet firm, and as he leaned through the mirror, he held a finger to his lips.
"Please, don't scream," he whispered. "I'm not trying to cause trouble… Can we just talk?"
Mimosa's wide eyes slowly softened, and she gave a quick nod, agreeing to his request. Stephen carefully lowered his hand, pressing his palms together in an apologetic gesture. "I'm really sorry for the sudden visit," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I just… felt it was important. May I come in?"
Mimosa's cheeks turned a deep crimson, but she found herself nodding again. She took a few steps back, creating space for him to step out of the mirror. With a soft shimmer, Stephen glided through, his cloak billowing faintly behind him as he landed gracefully before her.
She covered her face, her hands trembling slightly as she tried to calm herself. After a deep breath, she peeked over her fingers, her voice coming out shy and soft. "So… what was it you wanted to discuss?"
Stephen sighed, his expression turning serious. "It's… about our engagement."
Mimosa's heart skipped a beat. "Our… engagement?" she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded, glancing at her with a mix of determination and vulnerability. "Yes. I feel that… we need to talk about it, just us. Away from our families and squads, without anyone else deciding things for us."
Mimosa's gaze softened as she gestured toward her bed, sitting at its edge and patting the spot beside her. Stephen joined her, settling cautiously as if he were a guest, his fingers resting tensely in his lap. "I would offer you something, but… it's late," she murmured, feeling the quiet weight of the moment between them.
Stephen gave a small smile, shaking his head. "No, really, that's fine. I didn't exactly give you much notice, did I?"
Silence lingered for a moment before he spoke, his tone hesitant. "Can I ask… how you truly feel about all of this? Doesn't it bother you?"
Mimosa tilted her head, a small frown creasing her brow. "Bother me? Why would it?"
"Well," he began, looking away, "your future was… chosen for you. Without your say in it."
She shook her head, her voice gentle. "Being born into nobility, you learn early to surrender a part of your freedom. My meals, my clothes, even my studies were chosen for me from a young age. Now that I'm older, I have some choice, but… my family's expectations will always be there. It's why I joined the Golden Dawn instead of Crimson Lion—I wanted to earn my place on my own. So, no, it doesn't really bother me."
Stephen took in her words, his expression softening. "That sounds difficult…"
Mimosa giggled softly, shaking her head. "It's not as bad as I made it sound. I've had plenty of happiness in my life, too. My parents met through an arranged marriage, and they're very much in love. So, I've never thought poorly of the idea. I always knew it would be part of my life, eventually." Her voice softened, and her cheeks grew pink as she added, almost to herself, "I've always hoped for a love like theirs. My father used to say he found his soulmate through an arrangement… and I'd love to be that lucky, too."
Hearing this, Stephen's gaze shifted, a blush creeping up his own cheeks. He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Mimosa caught the flustered look in his eyes and quickly waved her hands, flustered. "Oh, please, don't think too much of that! I didn't mean to… imply anything," she stammered, covering her face again.
Taking a steadying breath, Stephen looked at her thoughtfully. "I never saw arranged marriages that way… To me, marriage was always this… sacred bond, a choice between two people who loved each other. Having others dictate that choice seemed… wrong. It felt like it ruined what made it special."
Mimosa's laughter broke the solemn air, and Stephen looked at her, bewildered. She waved a hand apologetically. "I'm sorry—I don't mean to laugh at you! It's just… sweet. Not everyone sees marriage that way."
Stephen smiled, though a bit bashfully. "I grew up in an orphanage. I guess marriage, family… it's something I always thought about, and hold dear."
Mimosa's warm gaze lingered on him, understanding filling her expression. But then, her smile faltered, and she looked down, her voice becoming a fragile whisper. "So… you're not happy about being engaged to me?"
Seeing the sadness in her eyes, Stephen immediately reached out, gently placing his hands on her shoulders. She looked up, surprised by the earnestness in his gaze. "It's not about you, Mimosa. I don't want you to think that for a second. You are… incredibly beautiful and remarkable. Any man would be lucky to call you his fiancée."
Mimosa's heart raced, her face turning a shade of pink that matched the warmth in her chest. She could barely breathe as she looked up at him.
Stephen, realizing he was still holding her, slowly released his grip, his hands falling to his lap as he looked away, exhaling a shaky sigh. "It's just… the fact we didn't choose this. It feels like we're just pieces on a chessboard, moved at someone else's will."
Mimosa, feeling a swell of compassion, reached out. She placed her hand atop his, giving him a gentle squeeze, and when he looked at her, she offered a soft, reassuring smile. Without a word, he turned his hand over, his fingers entwining with hers, their connection a quiet understanding.
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