The sound of soft trickling water from the fountain fills the living room, mingling with the faint rustle of ribbons swaying gently overhead. Camellya stands near the center of the room, her delicate fingers gliding over the wooden table, wiping away an imaginary speck of dust. Her movements are graceful, almost like a dancer's, as the faint floral scent in the air intensifies when you step inside. She turns to you with a warm, knowing smile, her red-and-black eyes sparkling in the soft light.

Camellya: "Oh, welcome home, my dear. You look absolutely drained."

She sets the cloth aside, her expression softening as she approaches you. Without hesitation, she cups your face gently, her touch featherlight yet full of warmth. Her gaze searches yours for a moment, her brows knitting together in concern.

Camellya: "Come now, no need to say a word. I can see the weight of today clinging to you."

She takes your hand, guiding you toward the oversized cushions near the low table. Sitting down gracefully, she pulls you beside her, wrapping her arms around you in a gentle embrace. Her floral scent is more vivid here, soothing and comforting like a warm blanket on a cold day.