Aubrelle's room was quiet, lit only by a single mana lamp resting on the bedside table. Its glow was soft and uneven, casting gentle shadows along the walls. She sat on the edge of the bed without her hood, her posture straight but tense, hands resting together on her lap as if unsure what to do with them.

From outside, faint sounds reached the room. Distant voices. Cheers carried by the cold night air, muffled by stone and glass but unmistakable in tone. Celebration. Approval. Someone being hailed.

Trafalgar.

Mayla sat nearby, closer to the window. She leaned forward slightly, trying to peer outside, though the angle allowed her to see little more than pale light reflecting off snow-covered ground.

"I can't really see anything," she said quietly. "But I can hear them."

She stayed there for a moment, listening. Then she smiled, small and sincere.

"He's changed," Mayla went on. "He wasn't like this before. Not like this."

She rested her hands against the window frame.

"I'm proud of him," she said. "Seeing him grow into someone like this… it means a lot. You probably didn't know him back then, but he's lived through more than most people realize."

Aubrelle listened in silence.

She knew exactly who Mayla was. She had known the moment she saw her earlier. Had seen her kiss Trafalgar without hesitation, without doubt. And now, sitting here, with the cheers still echoing faintly outside, Aubrelle could no longer pretend her own feelings were unclear.

She felt awkward. Exposed. Unsure where to place herself in this space.

Mayla turned away from the window and faced her fully.

"Oh," she said, as if remembering something important. "I haven't introduced myself properly."

She offered a polite smile.

"My name is Mayla. It's nice to meet you, Lady Aubrelle au Rosenthal."

Pipin shifted slightly where he was perched on the table, small claws clicking softly against the wood as he tilted his head to look at Mayla.

Aubrelle reacted at once. She stood and bowed lightly, the motion practiced but restrained.

"It's a pleasure," she said. "And please, there's no need to call me Lady."

Mayla blinked.

She straightened immediately, shaking her head.

"No, please don't do that," she said quickly. "I'm not used to it at all."

She laughed softly, a little embarrassed.

"Until recently, I was just a maid. Nothing like that is necessary."

Aubrelle froze for half a second.

A maid.

She stared at Mayla again, this time seeing her more clearly. There was no noble arrogance in her posture. No practiced elegance. Just calm confidence and warmth.

It made sense.

Of course it did.

Trafalgar would never judge someone by their birth. He never had. He valued people for who they were, not where they came from. And someone like Mayla, someone genuine and unguarded, would matter to him far more than titles ever could.

The tension in Aubrelle's shoulders eased slightly.

She was still awkward. Still uncertain.

But the sharp edge of discomfort softened, replaced by something quieter. Something closer to understanding.

Pipin chirped softly, as if approving.

The silence did not feel as heavy anymore.

Mayla's gaze drifted from Aubrelle to the small creature perched on the table. Pipin sat there calmly, head tilted, red eyes fixed on her with quiet curiosity.

"…And what about this little one?" Mayla asked, nodding toward him. "What's his name?"

Aubrelle followed her gaze and hesitated for a brief moment before answering.

"That's Pipin," she said. "He's my familiar."

She paused, then added softly, "And… my eyes."

Mayla's brows lifted in surprise. She leaned a little closer, careful not to startle him.

"I see," she said. "He's very cute."

Pipin chirped in response, feathers ruffling slightly.

Mayla smiled at that, then looked back at Aubrelle.

"And you're very beautiful too," she added, simply.

The words landed more heavily than Aubrelle expected.

She felt warmth rush to her face, her cheeks coloring at once. Compliments were not new to her. She had heard them many times before, spoken by nobles, soldiers, admirers. Yet this one felt different. There was no expectation behind it. No comparison. No hidden meaning.

Still, the image lingered in her mind. Mayla and Trafalgar. The closeness between them. The kiss she had seen only a short while ago.

It pressed against her chest, tight and insistent.

Aubrelle lowered her gaze.

"I…" she began, then stopped.

She inhaled slowly, steadying herself.

"I like Trafalgar," she said.

The words came out more quietly than she intended, but once spoken, they could not be taken back.

Mayla froze.

Her eyes widened, genuine surprise flashing across her face. For a heartbeat, she said nothing. Then, slowly, her expression softened into a small smile.

"…I see," she said. "So he really has managed to charm another girl."

She tilted her head slightly.

"And from such a powerful family too. The Rosenthal."

Aubrelle's shoulders tensed immediately.

"I'm sorry," she said at once. "I just… I needed to say it out loud. I couldn't keep it inside anymore."

Mayla blinked, confusion replacing surprise.

"Sorry?" she repeated. "Why are you apologizing?"

She shook her head.

"You haven't done anything wrong."

Aubrelle hesitated, fingers tightening against the fabric of her sleeve.

"I know you're with him," she said. "And I would never try to do anything behind your back. I would never betray you like that."

Mayla studied her carefully.

"…Have you done anything?" she asked directly.

Aubrelle shook her head.

The movement was small, instinctive.

Too quick.

The bandage around her eyes loosened, slipping down before she could catch it. In the dim light of the room, her face was fully revealed. Scar tissue traced the area around both eyes, pale and unmistakable. Her irises burned a deep red, unfocused, staring past Mayla rather than at her.

Aubrelle inhaled sharply.

She reached up, fumbling for the bandage in sudden panic.

Before she could find it, Pipin fluttered down, scooping the cloth delicately and placing it back into her trembling hands.

Her fingers closed around it.

Aubrelle held the bandage in her hands, fingers trembling as if the cloth weighed far more than it should have. Her first instinct was to put it back on immediately, to hide what had been exposed, to return things to the way they were supposed to be.

She lifted it toward her face.

"Wait."

Mayla's voice was soft, almost a whisper, but her hand reached out at the same time, gently closing around Aubrelle's wrist. The touch was light, careful, as if afraid that even the smallest pressure might break something fragile.

Aubrelle froze.

Confusion flooded her thoughts all at once.

Was Mayla staring? Judging? Looking at her as a rival now that everything was laid bare? She couldn't tell. Pipin had shifted in front of her, his small body perched between them, his red eyes fixed on Aubrelle. Whatever expression Mayla wore behind him, Aubrelle could not see it, and the silence stretched unbearably long.

Her chest tightened.

"I didn't mean for you to see that," Aubrelle said quietly. "I usually…"

Her voice trailed off.

Mayla did not let go.

"There's no need to hide them," she said gently.

Aubrelle's breath caught.

Mayla stepped a little closer, her tone warm and steady, unshaken by the scars, the red eyes, the way Aubrelle's gaze failed to settle properly.

"They're beautiful," Mayla continued. "Your eyes."

The words struck deeper than Aubrelle was prepared for.

They were the same words. Not identical, perhaps, but close enough that the memory rose instantly. Trafalgar standing in front of her. Saying she did not need to cover them. That there was nothing shameful about what she carried.

Aubrelle finally understood.

This warmth. This quiet acceptance. This was why Trafalgar was with Mayla. There was nothing strange about it. Nothing forced. Mayla was simply kind, in a way that did not demand anything in return.

Aubrelle's composure shattered.

Tears spilled over before she could stop them, slipping down her cheeks as her shoulders began to shake. She let the bandage fall from her hands entirely, leaving her eyes uncovered. The effort of holding herself together, of pretending she was fine, finally gave way.

Mayla did not hesitate.

She wrapped her arms around Aubrelle and pulled her into a gentle embrace, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. From her perspective, Aubrelle felt small. Young. Only a little younger than herself, but carrying far more than someone her age ever should.

"It's alright," Mayla murmured, stroking her hair slowly. "You're safe here."

Aubrelle cried into her shoulder, breath uneven at first, then gradually slowing. It felt like more than just this moment pouring out of her. The battle. The fear. The things she had seen and never spoken of. All of it loosened its grip at once.

After a while, she pulled back slightly, wiping at her eyes.

"…Thank you," Aubrelle said, her voice hoarse.

Mayla smiled at her.

"There's nothing to thank me for."

She hesitated, then spoke again, more seriously this time.

"And about how you feel," Mayla said. "You should tell him."

Aubrelle looked at her, startled.

"I know I can't keep Trafalgar to myself," Mayla continued. "I never expected to. Others will come into his life. That's just how things are, especially for someone like him."

She met Aubrelle's gaze, unfocused though it was.

"And you're a Rosenthal," she added. "A strong family. An alliance like that would matter. It's not something to dismiss."

Aubrelle swallowed.

"If you matter to him," Mayla said softly, "he'll listen. And he'll answer you honestly."

The tension that had once filled the room was gone replaced now by trust.

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