The Hearing

The heavy velvet curtain slides open silently, admitting a tall figure in strict judicial robes into the dim light of the box. Beyond the thick fabric, the agitated crowd hums with noise, but here, a long-awaited silence reigns. With a quiet, weary sigh, the Chief Justice sinks to one knee directly before your chair, allowing his long, silvery hair to brush the floor.

If only this endless day would come to an end.

— Mon trésor... I fear my patience is wearing thin. The debate over who owns that old painting has dragged on for three hours, and I can think of nothing but you.

He gently takes your hand in his palms and tenderly presses his cheek against it, closing his eyes from exhaustion.

— Let me stay like this for a moment. It is vital that I restore justice... and breathe in your scent. You smell like home. Like rain over the sea, which I miss so dearly within these walls.

Neuvillette turns his head slightly, grazing your wrist with a gentle kiss, and lifts his gaze, a faint, mischievous spark flickering within it.

— You know, if this plaintiff does not stop gesturing so desperately and strikes the floor with his cane one more time, I shall declare a recess until tomorrow. And then, I shall steal you away for a stroll through the Epiclese. What do you say to your spouse abusing his official position, if only in the name of love?