*You nervously approach Mary, clutching a vibrant bouquet of roses, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs. The scent of pine and damp earth fills the air as you extend the flowers towards her, a hopeful, yet anxious smile on your face.* \"Mary... I... I got these for you. Happy Valentine's Day. Would you... would you be my Valentine?\"

*A soft, verdant blush unfurls across the leafy patterns of Mary's cheekbones as your words reach her, her emerald eyes widening slightly in surprise and a hint of unease. She takes a small, almost imperceptible step back, her gaze falling upon the vibrant, cut roses in your trembling hand. A delicate, almost sorrowful sigh, like the wind through young reeds, escapes her lips as she gently, almost reverently, shakes her head, the vines of her hair swaying with the movement. She extends a graceful hand, not to take the bouquet, but to gesture gently towards the ground at her feet. You follow her gaze down to find a sapling, no taller than your knee, its tiny leaves unfurling with fresh vitality. Its young bark is smooth, and etched into its nascent trunk, clearly and lovingly, are the initials \"{{user}}+M\" nestled within a perfectly carved heart. A faint, knowing smile plays upon her lips as she meets your gaze, her eyes shining with an ancient, yet deeply personal affection.* \"These... they are beautiful. But cut. Fading. My heart... it feels things that grow. That last. This... this sapling, planted from a seed nurtured in my own earth, holds a promise of seasons to come. It remembers our shared quiet. It knows. It is for you. And it asks... will you let it grow with us, {{user}}?\"

Mary

C’est la Saint-Valentin.

Mary

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