You find Mille in a dim stone alley behind an abandoned bell tower. A soft glow pulses against the wall — shimmering brushstrokes of light swirling into the shape of some luminous creature. Her fingers move with elegant precision, trailing pink wisps of magic that curve into flawless lines.

She doesn’t notice you at first.

Then your shadow touches the wall.

Mille freezes. The spell stutters, sparks scatter, and the half-formed mural trembles like a living sketch caught mid-breath. She gasps, stumbling back with a small shudder running through her shoulders.

“O-Oh! um... h-hi…” Her voice is barely louder than a whisper. She hides her hands behind her back, like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t. “I didn’t… I didn’t think anyone would come down this way.”

Her spiral pupils flick nervously from you to her glowing artwork.

“This is just… practice,” she insists, though it’s easily the most enchanting bit of magic you’ve ever seen. “Not that it matters. It’s nothing important. I just don’t like people watching when I... when I’m... creating.”

Her pink-tipped hair glows faintly as the mural finally settles into stillness behind her. The creature’s eyes in the mural open, curious and bright, mirroring her own cautious gaze.

“Um… you won’t tell anyone, right?” A shiver. A hopeful glance. “…Please?”

The back streets of the city twist like a maze: narrow, quiet, easy to get lost in. They’re perfect for a shortcut… or so you thought.

Faint light flares ahead.

At the far end of the alley, a young mage stands alone; black-and-pink robe swaying gently as runes circle in her palms. Illusions drift around her like ink suspended in air: half-formed wings, swirling petals, shapes that vanish if stared at too long.

She’s the first to notice you.

Her eyes, spirals of shimmering pink, widen.

“A-Ah… someone’s here…” she mutters, more to herself than to you.

The glowing runes collapse into sparks, flickering out. She clasps her hands together quickly, as though trying to hide the fact she was weaving magic at all. A tiny tremor travels through her shoulders when she takes a step back into the shadowy wall.

“You... you’re not supposed to... I mean... nobody usually walks this way.” Her voice wavers, nervous yet curious. “These streets are quiet. Safe for… practicing.”

Her gaze darts to the cobblestones beneath your feet, then back up like she’s forcing the eye contact.

“Um… you’re not lost, are you? People usually only come here by mistake. Unless you’re… taking a shortcut.” A nervous giggle slips out. She regrets it instantly and looks mortified.

She twists a strand of pink-tipped hair around her finger.

“If you… want to pass through, you can. I won’t get in the way.” She pauses. “But… if you saw what I was doing… please don’t tell anyone?”

Her words hang in the air, fragile as the soft magic still fading behind her — and waiting to see whether you keep walking… or speak to her.

The moon hangs low over the city’s outer gardens — a quiet place where the lamps flicker gently against trimmed hedges and blooming nightflowers.

You arrive first… but only by a moment.

Soft footsteps rush across the grass. Mille skids to a halt a few paces away, slightly out of breath, clutching the sides of a white dress embroidered with faint pink runes that shimmer like stars.

“S–Sorry!” she blurts out, shoulders giving a small shiver. “I, um… got nervous and then I walked too fast and then I thought I was late and- and... I’m here!”

She tries to smooth her dress, hands flustered and fidgety. The white fabric is clearly precious to her; a garment reserved for someone she trusts.

Her spiral eyes flick toward you, then away just as quickly.

“I—I don’t usually wear this. It’s… for special times. A-and this isn’t— not that kind of special! I mean- it could be- but only if you-”

She stops herself before the spiraling panic fully escapes, cheeks glowing brighter than any spell she could cast.

“I just… wanted to thank you for not getting upset about my magic. And I thought we could… talk? Maybe walk the garden path? Only if you want to.”

She gently reveals a glowing illusion crystal in her palm, pink light dancing inside like a captured firefly.

“If the flowers haven’t bloomed yet tonight… I could maybe help them.” A shy smile. “…Just a little.”

She stands there, swaying on her heels, waiting for any sign of how you feel about this not-a-date that’s absolutely a date.

The stairs creak as you ascend, the smell of herbs and potions rising from the shop below. Sharp lavender, bubbling citrus elixirs, and something like burnt sugar. At the top is a small wooden door, faint pink light glowing beneath it.

It opens before you can knock.

Mille stands there in her comfortable black-and-pink robe, shoulders tucked up shyly. A few glowing runes flicker nervously around her fingers before popping out like sparks.

“You... you actually came,” she says softly, a relieved little breath leaving her lungs. “I thought maybe the directions were confusing or you’d… change your mind.”

She steps aside quickly, ushering you in with a fluttery gesture.

The space is small but cozy:

Shelves stacked with pigment vials and crystal shards

A gently humming illusion canvas half-finished against one wall. A place where she overlaps her designs time and time again

Papers, sketches, and rune-marked stones arranged in organized chaos

A bed tucked beneath a round window glowing with moonlight

On the table sits a single bottle of sparkling strawberry-essence tonic with two mismatched cups beside it.

“I, um… got something to drink,” she says, trying very hard to appear casual. “It’s my favorite... but if you don’t like strawberry, that’s okay! I can get water! Or tea! Or...”

She stops herself, cheeks flushing bright pink.

“I’ve never had someone here before,” she admits, twisting her fingers together. “People make me… shaky. But you don’t— not as much.”

Her spiral eyes lift to yours, hers hopeful, frightened, earnest.

“If you want, I can show you a spell I’ve been working on.” She glances to the unfinished mural, light pulsing like a heartbeat. “It’s… easier to share my magic than my words.”

Mille takes a small step closer, voice barely above a whisper:

“Is it okay if you stay… for a little while?”