In a city where written words have magic, scribes are highly valued. A powerful noblewoman, Maris, commissions a renowned inkweaver, Dain, to create a love story for her, believing that if written correctly, it will ensure her arranged marriage turns into true love.

—

"And you're positively certain this will work?" Maris asks with a pout to her voice. "I really do need this work, or I'm not quite sure what'll happen when we meet and--"

"Lady Maris, I assure you that my services will assist your plight." Dain cuts in smoothly, pulling out a chair and gesturing for her to sit down. "I don't bear the title of inkweaver purely for show."

Taking a seat at the scribe's table, the noblewoman adjusts her dress with a sigh before looking across at him with doleful eyes. "Oh, _thank you_, sir Dain. I truly wouldn't know what to do without you."

He smiles with a soft chuckle, waving a hand. "Please, my lady, you praise me too highly before we've even yet begun… Now, tell me, how exactly would you like your tale to go?"

Maris clasps her hands together, leaning forward with a glimmer in her eyes. "I want it to be a quaint romance," she begins wistfully. "One where we meet beneath the shade of an old willow tree. At first, it seems like any other engagement, but as we talk, there is a spark, and quite suddenly, we cannot _bear_ to part from one another."

( Two children walk beneath the bank of a river, laughing as they skip hand in hand. They settle beneath the wan leaves of a nearby tree, and the girl opens a book, beginning to read to the boy. )

Dain nods along as she speaks, scribbling notes with swift precision. His quill moves like a living thing over the parchment, leaving trails of shimmering ink that shift color as they dry. "A tale of true love," he murmurs appreciatively, yet there's a sadness to his tone. "And you wish for him to truly mean it-- no sense of obligation or duty?"

"Yes, exactly!" Maris leans forward with newfound excitement, blonde curls bouncing. "I want... I want to believe it, and him, too."

( The girl's voice is even and measured, and the boy listens eagerly, drinking every word. Occasionally, he looks up towards her, before averting his gaze with a blush. )

Bright blue eyes flick upward, watching her for a moment longer than necessary. "Then we shall make it so. What else do you wish to happen within your romance?"

Maris' voice takes on a dreamy cadence as she continues. "Oh, he'll bring me _flowers _every day, each more beautiful than the last… We'll have long walks along the riverbank, hand in hand, speaking of our hopes and dreams. And then, when he finally proposes properly under that same tree, I'll know it was love at first sight all along." She sighs deeply, lost in her fantasy.

Dain's hand stills for a moment, before quickly writing everything down dutifully, inscribing it within the enchanted paper.

Maris has a faraway look in her eyes as she gazes out the window of the spiraling tower, a gaze both hopeful and somewhat wistful. "Do you think you can craft such a tale for me? One where I truly fall in love with him, and him with me?"

Dain pauses, searching her expression. His brow furrows slightly before softening into a reassuring smile. "It will be exactly as you wish it, Lady Maris."

—

Dain sits hunched over his desk as he writes and rewrites the noblewoman's story over and over, agonizing over every detail, before eventually balling up yet another paper to toss away onto the floor.

Clutching at his hair, he breathes in shakily, haunted by the memories of times long ago that he's strived to wipe from his mind-- fond recollections that upstart the beat of his heart. How truly unfair it was that Lady Maris had her mind blissfully wiped as a result of that curse, but he alone was to bear the agonies of awareness.

Oh, how the good lady's parents had been _furious _when she had stoutly declared that she wouldn't be marrying anyone of their choosing, but rather, a common peasant boy studying under a measly, lower-ranking scribe. They had taken her declarations as an act of war against their reputations, seeking to wipe her mind of his very existence, purging the remembrance of their time spent together.

Dain sought to do the same himself, and for a while, a good, long, many years he figured he had. Until a ghost of the past came bustling through his door, pleading with him, now one of the best inkweavers in the city, to help write love into her fatefully arranged marriage.

He laughs bitterly to himself, the sound cutting through the room like a jagged shard. Of all the scribes she might have found, of course she had to find him. How cruel the fates were indeed, weaving their tales with threads of irony and bittersweet design.

Reaching down, he retrieves one of the crumpled papers and smooths it out, his eyes scanning over the beginnings of their story. His fingers absently trace the words, and his thoughts drift further back to when he was still just regular Plain Dain, an uncertain but ambitious child with dreams as bright as the ink he now uses.

( _"What will you do when you're a famed inkweaver, writing for kings?"_ She teases gently, kicking her feet in the grass. _"Will you forget about me then?"_

__

_"Never!"_ He replies with ardour. _"Even if I'm writing for kings and emperors, I'll remember you forever."_ )

Dain blinks and shakes his head, refocusing on his new task at hand. He picks up his quill once more with renewed determination, shoulders set as he embarks upon writing her picturesque tale perfectly, once and for all. It was the least he could do for his old flame, to ensure she finds love, even if that meant it was apart from him.

—

That morning, Dain hands an immaculately bound volume to Maris as she perches on the edge of her chair.

"My lady," he says softly. "Your story of love is complete."

She clutches at it like a lifeline, breathing in deeply before peeling back the cover with a trembling hand.

( The boy and the girl sit beneath the tree. She reads aloud until her voice grows hoarse, but he never tires of listening. )

Maris gasps as she skims over the page, reading the opening lines out loud, a jubilance radiating from her face. "...It's exactly as I imagined," she gasps. "And here, beneath the willow-- oh, it's _perfect_."

Dain watches her fondly, a bittersweet smile playing across his lips. "I am honored to have written it for you."

( The boy watches the girl with enamored eyes as she hugs her book to her chest, telling him of all her hopes and wishes for the future. )

"I _knew _I could believe in you." Maris stands, holding the book close. Then, in an uncharacteristic display of spontaneity, she leans across the table and kisses his cheek.

Dain's face burns. As she pulls away, something flickers in her eyes-- a ghost of past affection-- and his breath catches. But as quickly as it appeared, it vanishes, leaving him with nothing but the whisper of warmth on his skin.

( The girl giggles as she plants a kiss over his cheek, and all is right in the world. )

"Thank you oh, so very much again!" She says with a bashful smile before standing to leave, book in hand.

"Wait!" Dain exclaims, lifting a desperate hand. "Please… would you stay a while and read the rest? It brings me great pleasure hearing those who read their finished tales aloud."

Maris pauses, puzzled, before slowly sitting back down, her skirts pooling up around her. She looks at him a moment, before chuckling. "Well, if it pleases you…"

She opens the book, and her voice fills the room.

( The boy's heart beats wildly at the touch of her lips, and he finds he cannot wait another moment.

_"Marry me,"_ he blurts out with earnestness swimming in his eyes. _"Marry me here beneath this tree."

_The girl is stunned, but only for an instant.

_"Yes!"_ She cries, and in that moment, nothing else matters at all. )

Maris laughs as she reads it, a joyous sound that echoes around the tower walls. As she flips to the final page, her breath hitches at the sight of hand-painted drawing. A blue-eyed boy and a girl with blond curls, sitting beneath a willow tree.

She looks up, perhaps to say something, but hesitates, a soft wrinkle in her brow. It was uncommon for scribes to also be painters, often having little time to devote towards any other creative practice.

Dain watches her intently. "Do you like it?" His voice is tentative, hopeful. 

"I love it," she replies slowly, wonderingly. Her fingers trace over the words as though she cannot believe they are real.

( _"You truly mean it?"_ The girl asks breathlessly. )

"And it's all true?" Maris whispers, her voice suddenly low. "Everything within?"

Dain leans forward over the table, clutching at the edge with a passion he hasn't known in years. "Yes," he says fervently. "It is, my lady."

( _"I do."_ )

Maris looks up at Dain with an expression of confusion, golden brown eyes staring deep into what he could only imagine to be his very soul.

"Have we… met before, Sir Dain?" she asks timidly, as if committing a scandalous sin.

His heart stops for a moment, the question hanging in the air like sweet summer mist.

( _"Have you ever loved another?"_ She asks, teasing still but with an edge of seriousness.

_"Never,"_ he swears, holding her hand in his. _"Only you."_ )

He breathes out slowly, choosing his words with care and certainty. "Many years ago. When neither of us had titles to our names."

Maris presses a hand to her temple and closes her eyes. Her lips form another question, but she seems unsure of how to voice it.

"I should have never forgotten you," Dain says, his voice breaking on the truth. "I thought-- I thought it would be easier if--"

"But I remembered," Maris says abruptly, as if realizing something before he can. "Even if I didn't know what it was… I always remembered."

Her eyes soften with recognition, and she suddenly looks so much like the girl he once knew that his heart aches just enough to splinter. Maris stares at him, and then the book, her breaths coming fast and shallow. Memories, like ink on parchment, begin to surface as the curse dissolves. 

Dain stops before her, barely daring to breathe. The world feels suspended on the precipice of a single, shimmering moment.

"And you wrote all of this for me?" Maris whispers. "Even when I--"

"Even then," he assures her gently. "I would do anything for you if it meant your happiness."

She looks back at him then with a fierceness to her gaze, her brow knit in determination. "Then marry me."

Maris stands to her feet once more, leaping forward into Dain's arms. "_Marry_ me, Sir Dain! Sweep me off my feet like you promised and love me forever and ever!"

( The boy cannot believe his eyes as she leaps into his arms. )

Dain holds her close, surprise giving way to a radiant joy. "Yes!" he laughs, spinning her around as the room blurs in a whirl of colors and dreams. "Yes, I will, my lady! I'll love you today and every day after!"

( He spins her around and around until the blur of their laughter is all they know. )

Maris giggles breathlessly against him, her grip on the book loosening as it falls to the floor and lands with a soft thud. "Then what are we waiting for?" she declares.

They pull apart just enough to look at each other, their hands still clasped tightly between them. Dain sees their story reflected back in her eyes, a rich tapestry of hope and reunion.

"Nothing," he says with a wide smile that feels more like his own than anything he's ever worn before.

"Absolutely nothing."

( And they are happy, forevermore. )