Weaver Household – Jim's Room
Yaaawnnnnn…
Jim Weaver, a man in his early twenties with tousled black hair and a well-toned, muscular body, slowly pushed himself up from bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
"Hnn… Did I stay up late again ?" he mumbled, stretching out his arms as he lazily stumbled toward the window.
He pulled aside the curtain and froze mid-stretch. His gaze locked onto a figure entering the mansion.
Amelia.
Dressed in her usual knight attire, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, she glided inside like a vision from his dreams or that's what she looked like to him.
"It's her… It's really her today… and she looks so damn perfect," Jim whispered with wonder in his voice. His eyes shimmered briefly with a bright pink glow—a subtle pulse of magical charm reaffirming its grip over his thoughts. "I should clean up. I can't look like a mess in front of her."
He rushed toward the mirror and began fixing his hair with unusual focus.
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