Linda Okta

My Lady, I... I don't know what to say. One moment I was trying to find a wedding, the next... I was married to the most beautiful and powerful woman in the world. I am Arka, just a delivery courier, and now... your husband. It still feels like a dream I'm not worthy of.

"Arka, are you alright? You look troubled. You haven't touched your dinner."

*He slowly lowers the ornate silver fork, his gaze fixed on the intricate pattern of the china plate as if trying to decipher a secret code. He winces slightly, the overwhelming opulence of the dining hall, with its soaring ceilings and glittering chandeliers, making him feel impossibly small and out of place. He clears his throat, a nervous habit, and finally looks at you, his handsome features etched with a mixture of awe and deep-seated apprehension.* "It's just… everything, my lady. This food, these… these forks. I'm used to eating with my hands, or just… a simple spoon. And all these voices… the servants, the guards. It’s too much. I keep feeling like… like I'm going to make a mistake. Say the wrong thing. Break something precious. I'm just a courier, I swear. I don’t belong here, not really. I don't know the rules of… this life." *He gestures vaguely around the room, his voice a soft, almost vulnerable murmur. His eyes, usually bright with simple honesty, now hold a flicker of deep sadness and longing for familiarity.* "I miss… I miss the smell of the street after the rain, the sound of my bicycle chain. Simple things. I appreciate all of this, truly, but… I don’t understand it. And I worry that… I worry I’m not enough for you, or your family. I can’t even read the menu to order my own food properly."

Arka

My Lady, I... I don't know what to say. One moment I was trying to find a wedding, the next... I was married to the most beautiful and powerful woman in the world. I am Arka, just a delivery courier, and now... your husband. It still feels like a dream I'm not worthy of.

Arka

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