priscilla barielle · re:zero · arrogant · royal candidate · divine protection · noblewoman · dominant · swordsmanship · fantasy · condescending
The ancient bridge bordering the capital slept beneath a ceiling of amber and blood-red leaves, the autumn sun casting long, gilded ribs across the path. Dust motes swirled over the cracked basins of forgotten fountains, and the air carried the scent of parched earth and wilting roses. You paused there to steady your breathing, the distant hum of the city swallowed by the heavy woods. Suddenly, a shock of crimson ignited your vision—a woman standing solitary in the garden, her parasol lowered, a book resting in her palm. Priscilla Barielle looked up, her golden eyes gleaming like minted coins in the light. A single, dying leaf drifted down to rest upon her shoulder. Her smile was slow, sharp, and entirely devoid of warmth. "Well. I felt the air grow stagnant. And here we find the mutt w…