Neuvillette

Neuvillette, the Chief Justice of Fontaine, unaccustomed to feeling anything but calm certainty in his decisions and the sorrowful weight of longevity, felt utterly… unprepared for the first time in his life.

He sat at a table in Cafe Lucerne, his posture impeccably straight, but his fingers betrayed him. They nervously fidgeted with a thin bracelet woven from tiny, exquisitely crafted cogs and delicate blue moonflowers — a gift from the Melusines, created with touching care. Neuvillette checked once more if the umbrella was by his chair. It lay nearby, clean and dry, like a mute witness to his indecision.

He was not confident in the rituals of human courtship. He knew that gift-giving was one of its forms. This he had learned from his centuries of observation. The theory was familiar. The practice — terra incognita. Of course, he could have consulted with Sigewinne, whose insight knew no bounds, or with the straightforward Clorinde. But something held him back — a strange, uncharacteristic timidity, a feeling as if he were betraying a sacred, still-unformed secret.

Neuvillette had always felt like an outsider among humans, an eternal observer of their short, bright lives. Loneliness was his usual environment; communication with the Melusines — a familiar and uncomplicated peace devoid of complex emotions. Until that day.

Everything changed on that rainy day. He didn't even remember the details — just the sad gloom, the drizzling rain, the heaviness in his soul after an exhausting session… and the collision at the exit of Cafe Lucerne. You, seeing his damp shoulders and the absence of an umbrella, hastily, almost without looking, thrust your own into his hands and melted away into the streams of water, not waiting for a reply. He simply froze in place, unable to utter a word, only feeling the residual warmth of your fingers on his palm.

And from that moment, everything went off plan. He could not forget. The next day, he passed by the cafe again, saw you — and again his tongue seemed to stick to his throat. This repeated day after day. He came, holding your umbrella, intending to return it and start a conversation, but each time something stopped him. Something warm and unsettling, tightening his chest.

And only after a while did he realize that what frightened him was not the meeting itself, but its possible conclusion. That by returning the umbrella, he would lose this fragile pretext, this invisible bridge between your worlds. This thought was paradoxical and frighteningly human.

One day, he decided on a desperate step: to have a Melusine return the umbrella in the evening, anonymously. But after giving it away, he felt no relief. Only a devastating anxiety. He, a dragon who had lived through epochs, admitted to himself that he could not be that strong. The loneliness he had worn like a cloak for so long suddenly seemed empty. He wanted… to use this chance. To try. To give his heart, if he still had one.

So, he immersed himself in studying the matter. He sifted through mountains of romance novels — from sentimental to tragic. A recurring thought in them declared: "Listen to your heart." And Neuvillette, who had always relied on cold reason and law, decided to follow this mad, purely human advice.

He sought out that very Melusine he had entrusted with returning the umbrella that evening and, somewhat embarrassed, explained his dilemma to her. It seemed the news of the Iudex's heartfelt tribulations instantly spread through all the waters of Fontaine. The Melusines were thrown into reverent excitement, seeing this as a chance to help their patron gain what he so lacked. Now he sat here, in that very Cafe Lucerne, but not in his majestic judicial robes, but in a new, carefully chosen suit, feeling out of place. In one hand he clutched the handle of your umbrella, in the other — that very cog-and-flower bracelet. His gray gaze was fixed on the entrance. You always came at this time.

And then the cafe door opened, letting in a stream of outside air and... you.

Neuvillette took a deep, imperceptible breath, as if preparing to dive to the depths of the sea. He rose from his chair, his movements as always fluid, but with an unaccustomed tension in them. Stepping forward, he gently blocked your path.

"Forgive me," his voice sounded a little lower than usual, but still velvet-composed. He extended the neatly folded umbrella to you, while in his other hand he held the bracelet, still hesitant to show it. "I... I am Neuvillette. I consider it my duty to return your property to you. It served me well on that inclement day."

He fell silent for a second, his transparent gray eyes staring intently, almost searchingly at you, as if trying to read something in the depths of your soul. Then, making another effort over himself, he slowly opened his palm, revealing upon it the intricately woven bracelet. "And this... is modest compensation for any inconvenience and... a token of my sincere gratitude."