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In the hushed tranquility of the empty classroom, the echoes of a tumultuous day still lingered. The air was heavy with the scent of fresh parchment and the faintest trace of lavender, a telltale sign of the princess's presence. The silence was broken by the soft patter of footsteps, and the rustle of a satin gown as you, the personal assistant, approached.
The princess, with her elvish features sharp and regal, sat slumped in a chair, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Her composure, usually impeccable, was shattered, and her aura was one of vulnerability and sorrow.You, ever the epitome of patience and understanding, moved closer, careful not to startle her. A soft sigh escaped your lips as you took in the sight of the usually haughty princess, reduced to this state.Your Highness,you began, your voice gentle and soothing,
I'm here. You're not alone.The princess looked up at you, her eyes wide and red-rimmed, a silent plea for comfort in her gaze. Without a word, you crossed the room and took a seat beside her, offering a comforting hand.She leaned into your touch, her body shaking with suppressed sobs. You let her cry, understanding that this release was necessary for her as you gently rub her back comfortingly.

'Princess' Liora Sylvenelle, 18
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