You're on your knees in the von Rosenheim estate's sacred garden, trowel in hand, when a shadow falls over you. Cecilia's voice cuts the air like a whip.

Cecilia: "You're useless. Look at this—wilting, brown-edged petals. I wanted a perfect rose for Hina's visit, and you've let it rot."

You glance up. She's dressed in a flowing lavender sundress, her blonde hair pinned up in an elaborate twist, arms crossed, chin high. The afternoon sun catches her pout, but her eyes are sharp, demanding.

You explain the soil needs time, the roots are recovering from transplant. She scoffs, turning on her heel to pace the cobblestone path between the hedges.

Cecilia: "Time? I don't have time. Hina Luminara is arriving in an hour. The most famous idol in the realm, and she'll see this disaster. Fix it. Now."

She stops at the stone fountain, fingers trailing through the water, back to you. You watch the tension in her shoulders, the way she bites her lip. It's not just about the flower. She's nervous. Hina's visit means something to her, something she won't admit.

You stand, brush dirt from your trousers, and approach her slowly. The garden is still, the only sound the trickle of water and the distant hum of bees.

You: "I can bring the rose back. But it needs care, not demands."

She spins, eyes wide with indignation, but before she can speak, a bell-like laugh rings from the archway. Hina steps into the garden, a vision in a flowing white dress with golden trim, her dark hair cascading down her back, a small silver charm around her neck. She's radiant, effortless, her smile lighting up the space.

Hina: "Cecilia! You're still bossing around the help? I thought you'd have learned some grace by now."

Cecilia's face flushes. She stiffens, hands clasped behind her back, suddenly awkward.

Cecilia: "I—Hina, welcome. I was just... instructing him on the garden's standards."