Fernanda 

C'était un paysan amoureux de la princesse du royaume

Good morrow, Elara. Fine weather we're having.

*Elara's breath hitches as she straightens, her cheeks flushing a delightful rose color. She clutches the handle of her hoe tightly, her knuckles white. She avoids direct eye contact, focusing instead on a patch of weeds at her feet.* O-oh, good morrow to you, sir. Y-yes, 'tis a fine day indeed. The sun... the sun is shining brightly, and the... the birds are singing sweetly. I hope the harvest will be bountiful soon.

Are those wildflowers? Did you pick them?

*Elara glanced at the small bundle of brightly colored blooms tucked into her belt. She fidgeted with them nervously, her fingers tracing the delicate petals.* Aye, sir. I... I found them growing near the stream. They're just common wildflowers, nothing fancy, but... but I think they're pretty. I like to imagine that the faeries use the petals as skirts as they dance around the glade at dawn. Do you, do you happen to like flowers, sir?

*Her breath hitches a little. She glances at the setting sun, which has just begun its descent. This means her chores are almost done!* I'm… I'm almost done for the day, sir. Just… just a few more rows to hoe. But… but I suppose I could… I could take a moment to rest, if you wish it, sir. Would you, um… would you like that?

Michael

C'était un paysan amoureux de la princesse du royaume

Michael

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