Finally, the weekend had arrived. The Saturday Dorothea had been looking forward to for what felt like months. In reality, it had not even been a week; on Monday, the woman had, at last, felt comfortable enough with her friend to ask her out on a date.

Petra. Sweet, wonderful Petra Macneary; the new highlight of Dorothea's life - her new reason for being. Her demeanor so gentle and joyous, her laugh the most beautiful sound. While back in the academy, Dorothea had thought of Petra as cute and endearing, now that she was a woman - a Queen, and hardened by war - the singer had started to see so much more in her.

Dorothea had found herself performing in Brigid after the end of the war, becoming a renowned member of the state's opera. Her most loyal audience member, to Dorothea's surprise, had been Petra. Despite inheriting the throne, Petra had remained humble, and had not hesitated to visit Dorothea after every performance.

The two had become fast friends upon their time spent together behind the stage, making jokes and sharing their lives. And Dorothea had been positively intrigued by Petra's life. All the travelling she'd done, experiences she'd had, things she'd learnt... Not only was Petra unbearably pretty, interesting, and adorable, but incredibly smart, too. It simply wasn't fair - for one girl to be so perfect, teasing Dorothea with her magnificence all the time…

But… that meant that she was out of Dorothea's league. The woman was nothing more than a singer, with debilitatingly humble beginnings. Despite Petra agreeing to meet with her for a lunch date, Dorothea could not shake the feeling that she was undeserving of such company.

Oh, what are you thinking, Doro? She didn't even know if Petra was into girls yet. She should have been worrying about that first - there was no point thinking about making a move until she knew she had a chance.

As Dorothea stood by the fountain, fanning her face with her hand to cool down beneath the burning Brigid sun, she hoped to find out today the answers to the worries that plagued her. She'd finally pulled herself together and asked Petra into the city for a date of sorts; today, she would know whether the giggles behind the stage were flirtatious, or merely friendly.

The day was warm, a damp heat pressing in around Dorothea as she watched civilians rushing down the streets around her. For such a hot day, Dorothea began to wonder whether a day at the swimming pool would have been more appropriate, or even inviting her to travel to the coast for a day at the beach…

No, don't overthink it. Petra had seemed overjoyed at the suggestion of the city centre - closing her eyes with a large smile and cooing her response:

"The city centre is sounding wonderful! Oh, I am never having the chance to visit!" she'd babbled, fingers forming small braids in Dorothea's hair as they'd chatted.

Dorothea wore the same smile upon her face now as she had at the time; a dreamy, contented thing that she imagined made her look as dopey as she felt. Who could blame her, though - she was in love! … Probably.

Sitting down upon the smooth stone wall of the fountain, the singer let out a deep sigh as the humidity seemed to seep into her skin. Despite wearing a short pleated skirt and a thin white shirt, she was still sweating under the heat of the unbearable Brigid weather. While her ears were filled with music from street performers, layered with the chatter of city-goers, the woman's brain thought only of one thing: Petra Macneary. What would they do today? Where would she like to eat her lunch? What kinds of shops would she like to go to?

Fifteen minutes passed before Dorothea knew it, and as she looked up at the grand stone clock-tower in the distance, she became increasingly aware that her date would appear at any moment. A welcome breeze seemed to cut into her skin as nervousness finally set in. The pit of her stomach seemed to curdle as she watched women turn the corner into her vision; in any second, one of them could be Petra.

The woman's words echoed in her head:

"Yes! Midday will be excellent. I will meet you by the fountain!"

The face of the clock tower was mere minutes away from midday. The bite of the breeze cut through the damp air to make Dorothea almost shiver, her stomach in knots thinking about the day ahead. Petra was royalty, for Sothis' sake. What if the became bored? What if she was unimpressed by the way commoners found entertainment? What if the two had nothing to talk about, or found no shops to go to? What if she ended up hating the lunch and wanted to go home—?

"Dorothea!"

The songstress leapt at the sound of the elated voice before her. Pulling herself from gazing at the cerulean sky, Dorothea whirled as Petra approached her, waving one hand and holding the hem of her skirt in the other. Physically restraining a gasp, Dorothea's eyes widened as she took in the sight before her.

Petra always managed to make her monarch's outfit look beautiful when attending the opera, but seeing her in more dress-down clothes was something completely new. The woman wore the traditional garb of Brigid, clothes that exposed her arms, legs, and midriff. A short, tight skirt coloured a pale maroon colour was patterned with beautiful lilac intricacies, and her shoulders were left bare beneath a thin black top. The outfit was modest for a Queen, but her hair tied back in many elaborate plaits was stunning.

"Hi," Dorothea felt herself mutter, touching at her own hair: the half-loose waves cascading across her shoulders with a small crown of braids that Petra had taught her felt lacklustre in comparison to the Queen's beautiful style. How did she always make Dorothea feel so… anxious? Usually she was so self-assured; she had never felt quite like this before.

Petra turned behind her and began to speak in her mother tongue - the beautiful language of Brigid that Dorothea was still a beginner at. Looking over her shoulder, Dorothea saw two guards standing a short distance away from the women - presumably escorts. The singer heard the phrase for "thank you" upon Petra's tongue, and watched the two guards bow and begin to head away.

"You look beautiful," Dorothea said quietly, unable to take her eyes away from the Queen once the two had been left alone.

Petra laughed in response, taking one of Dorothea's hands in her own as she began to walk further into the city streets. "Thank you! You are looking beautiful, too, Mystical Songstress."

Dorothea rolled her eyes. "You don't have to use the full title…"

"But, I want to!" Round, chocolate-drop eyes looked deep into Dorothea's own, so filled with happiness. "I am never getting to explore the city. Where shall we go first?"

"Do you know the singer… The Sapphic Chanteuse?" Petra leaned her head back into the softness of the sofa, looking at Dorothea through the hair that had fallen into her eyes.

Dorothea laughed. "Of course I do! What do you take me for?" That might have been the most obvious question in the world; the Sapphic Chanteuse was only one of Dorothea's greatest inspirations - a legendary songstress who sang unapologetically of her love of her female lover. Dorothea could listen to her music all day - inspired to one day become like her.

While the two women now sat in Dorothea's living quarters, exhausted after three hours of fun, silence drowned the house. The singer lived alone, leaving her and the other woman in blissful peace. The prospect of bringing her crush back to her empty house had threatened to set Dorothea's stomach alight with nerves, but she had done it anyway, upon the request of Petra wanting to see where she lived.

This day had been perhaps the best day of Dorothea's life to date. Exploring the huge maze of the shopping centre, dipping into stores to try on cute clothes, or to look at books and instruments and spell components. Having their portraits sketched by a street artist, and getting lunch together at an adorable little café…

"We could have some authentic Brigid food?" Dorothea had suggested as they'd scoured the streets for somewhere to eat.

"No," Petra's nose had crinkled at the mention. "No, no, no. All I eat at home is Brigid food, ugh! Let us try some of Dorothea's favourites!"

Thus, they had eaten in a Fódlan-style café - one that had served the peach sorbet Dorothea so desperately craved. Petra had eaten a helping too, complimenting her on her food choice despite the fact Dorothea knew her personal tastes varied from the singer's own.

Now, the Queen nodded at Dorothea, a little chuckle escaping her throat at the answer she'd received. "I see, so… You do like her…" She trailed off, thoughtful.

"So… What?" Dorothea asked her. "Do you like the Sapphic Chanteuse, too?"

Petra chuckled more, shrugging. "Maybe. It is interesting that you are liking her, though. It is having connotations."

"Of course," Dorothea smiled. "It means that you have a great taste in music."

The Queen of Brigid laughed out loud now, throwing her head back into the sofa. "Well, yes! But, something more!" Her hands came up to cover her mouth, stifling her laughs in the most adorable way. "She is… I'm sure you know… loving women!"

Dorothea's lips parted, words leaving her head and ceasing to exist. What? Her heart started into overdrive. So, she knew about the Chanteuse's lady love; no, not only had she known, but she'd seemed to expect Dorothea to know too. Her eyes were bright and smiling, twinkling at the singer in their vastness. "You… You know?" Dorothea managed. Whether she was talking about Petra knowing of the Chanteuse's love, or of Dorothea's own love of women, the singer did not know.

As the two women sat together on the sofa, though, Petra's eyes were somewhat narrowed, her full lips curling at the sides. It was an almost knowing smile - sly, cunning, as though she was planning something. "I know, Doro," she whispered. The singer's heart rate increased. Petra knew what she'd been thinking - what she'd been hinting at all day. She'd known that it had been a date all along, merely pretending to be oblivious; grabbing hold of Dorothea's hand, rubbing her lower back, playing with her hair… The girl was a minx.

And she was Dorothea's.

The singer leaned across the sofa towards her before she could control herself, her nose brushing against the Queen's as their foreheads touched - but she couldn't reach her lips. Petra's chin was angled inwards, as though keeping them away from Dorothea's own - those dark eyes staring into the green ones with fire within. Her hand touched Dorothea's thigh - gripped it in surprisingly strong fingers - and her chin came forward.

"Not yet." She whispered the words as though they were a song, her soft, pink lips brushing against the singer's as she spoke. "Let's head upstairs first, hm?"

Dorothea's heart had stopped, her breath caught in her throat. Petra's hand brushed the skin of her thigh as she stood up, holding it out towards the brunette and helping her stand as her head was left reeling. As Petra led Dorothea towards her room, the singer realised she felt almost lost in her own house - incapable of processing what was happening as she was led through corridors.

Once in the bedroom, Petra closed the door behind Dorothea and stood against it, her back to it. Before her, the singer breathed heavily as she tried to make sense of everything. Petra knew she was into women, and knew she was into her. And, now, she was teasing. Both of her hands reached out to Dorothea's, entwining their fingers, and pulled up the singer's arms as she rested the backs of her hands against the door on either side of her head. Those minx's eyes grinned at Dorothea now, daring her to step closer - to finish what she'd started. She obliged, looking down into those bold, brown eyes, stepping forward until their bodies touched and their noses brushed against one another yet again.

A whisper left Dorothea's throat. "Am I allowed, now?"

A flash of white met her eyes as Petra smiled. "Yes."

Finally, Dorothea's lips hit Petra's; so soft, so warm- they kissed back with fervour. The singer disentangled her fingers from the Queen's iron grip to hold her head, cradle her jaw, and stroke the softness of her cheeks with her thumbs as their tongues touched, feeling hands grab her hips to pull her even closer, their hips interlocking.

"Doro," Petra breathed into her mouth, her light voice so endearing. Pulling away, Dorothea looked into her eyes. "Hm, no. Don't let this end." She pulled the singer back into another kiss.