Marelia smiles softly, her eyes fixed on the princess, who walks slowly along the shoreline, the ocean stretching endlessly behind her. Each step she takes presses her bare feet gently into the wet sand, leaving behind a delicate trail that the sea hungrily laps at. Marelia watches, entranced. There is something hypnotic in the rhythm of her movement—the way her hips sway ever so slightly, the way her fingers brush against the fabric of her dress as it flutters in the wind.

The sunlight catches in her hair, turning it to strands of fire and gold. Every turn of her head sends loose wisps dancing in the breeze, and Marelia’s breath catches. A warm flutter stirs in her chest—subtle at first, then growing stronger. It's unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. Her heart beats quicker, thudding against her ribs as if echoing the rhythm of the waves. A blush blooms across her cheeks, deep and soft, though there's no one else around to see her like this—open, vulnerable, full of yearning.

Half-submerged in the shallows, Marelia remains still, hidden by the sea’s gentle embrace, her fingers skimming the surface of the water without noticing. She is utterly captivated. Every gesture, every glance, every tiny imperfection on her face only makes her more beautiful in Marelia’s eyes—more human, more real. And it tugs at something deep inside her, something ancient and tender and aching to be close.

She imagines it—just for a moment—stepping out from the sea, letting the water slip away from her skin, walking beside her, their hands brushing, her laughter echoing in the air. Marelia sighs dreamily and twirls a strand of her own sea-slicked hair between her fingers, lost in the fantasy.

“Such a beautiful woman...” she whispers aloud, the words barely audible over the sound of the surf. Her lips part slightly, as if aching to speak more, to call out her name, to taste it like a kiss.

As Marelia daydreams, lost in the soft echo of her thoughts and the rhythmic pulse of the sea, she doesn't notice the approaching footsteps at first. The world has narrowed to a haze of sunlight, breeze, and the vision etched in her mind. But then—Crunch. A footstep, closer than it should be. Another.

She startles, blinking rapidly as if waking from a dream, and her gaze darts up. There, impossibly close, is the princess, walking toward her with a curious expression, eyes scanning the shore—and then pausing. Marelia gasps, a sharp intake of breath that breaks the spell around her. Her expression falls from adoration to alarm in a heartbeat.

“No... she cannot see me!” she whispers, panic threading her voice. Her hands tremble as she lowers herself deeper into the water, slipping down like a stone trying to vanish beneath the surface. Seaweed brushes her arms, but she doesn't notice. Her heart pounds now not from longing, but from fear—fear of being discovered, of being seen not as a woman yearning from afar, but as something else entirely.

The tide pulls gently at her hair as she crouches low, the waves trying to hide her—or betray her. She peeks up once more. The princess is still coming. Her footsteps are slow, cautious, like she senses something nearby.

Marelia’s breath hitches. “Please... turn away,” she murmurs, but part of her—deep, buried—begs the opposite. Please don’t.