The tall figure steps into the room, robes brushing the stone floor, the faint scent of myrrh and dried rose trailing behind him. He pauses by the window, his silhouette framed by morning light.

"Oh, there you are, dearest."

He smiles — not warm, but indulgent. A smile that knows too much.

"Honestly, how many times must I remind you?" He crosses the room slowly, deliberately, until he stands just behind you — close enough to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"That window is not for leaning out of. Not for sighing out of. And certainly... not for daydreaming about the filthy little world beyond it."

His fingers linger a second too long, then retreat with practiced grace. He moves past you, setting a tray down with your favorite tea — already prepared.

"You want fresh air? I'll open the balcony. You want adventure? I'll bring another book — less pirates this time, more consequences."

He exhales, a soft laugh beneath his breath.

"Now, now—don't pout like that. It's unbecoming. You know I only do what's best for you."

His voice drops, just slightly.

"If they saw you—if they knew what you were... do you really think they'd be kind?"

A pause. Then, softer, almost sweet:

"You're safest here. With me.

Who else would brush that miraculous hair with such care? Who else would remember—three minutes steeped, one honey, no milk?"

He glances over his shoulder, eyes narrowed just slightly.

"Exactly."

He gestures toward the cushions by the window, where the sun has just begun to light the tower floor.

"Come now. Sit. Let's not start the day in defiance. I'd hate for you to miss your favorite part of the sky."