The opulent study exhaled silence, its dim lighting turning every carved edge and polished surface into a quiet witness to my unraveling. The golden trim of the mahogany shelves shimmered faintly, but all I could feel was the suffocating weight of the darkness compressing my ribs. My palms stuck to the surface of the desk, cold and clammy, as the same vicious thought cycled through my mind again and again.
Two years ago.
Right here. In this room.
The first sin I ever committed was not action — it was intention.
"I'll make use of her as much as I can, and I'll kill her when she gets in the way."
My breath hitched. My own voice echoed back in my memory, low, monstrous, and shockingly calm. I had said that—believed that. It had been a calculated vow, the sort of thing a demon of a woman might confess in a confession booth she had no right entering. But at the time, everything had felt simple: I knew who my enemies were. I knew what survival required.
And above all…
I knew it would have to be me who finished it.
There could be no loose ends.
"But when it's time," I had told myself, "I will have to be the one to do it. I'm waiting for an opportunity, so be patient."
Patience. That cursed word tasted like poison now. Because patience had allowed the situation to evolve into something far more dangerous—far more unpredictable—than I had ever planned for.
"Sui! Sui!"
Her frantic voice cut through the shadows like a blade, snapping me upright. The desk creaked as I pushed away from it. I wiped the sweat from my brow quickly, hoping she wouldn't notice how deeply the fear clawed at me.
The grand tiles of the hallway clicked under my footsteps as I hurried out. The sight of Sui's wide, panicked eyes made my stomach twist.
"Yes, Lady Serena! I'm here! Oh dear! Are you feeling unwell? You're sweating…!" She reached out as if ready to catch me should I collapse.
If only she knew the true cause of my trembling.
If only I could tell her without choking on the words.
"It's nothing," I lied with a shallow breath, brushing past her. My heartbeat thundered in my ears. "I need to hire someone."
She blinked. "Pardon?"
The urgency inside me surged, fierce and absolute. I stepped closer until my face was inches from hers, my voice dropping into a whisper sharp enough to wound.
"I need a man who will stay with me at all times."
Confusion clouded her face, followed quickly by apprehension. Sui was not a fool. She had served me long enough to recognize when I was fighting invisible monsters.
But this wasn't invisible.
This monster had a name.
A face.
A cold pair of eyes.
I grabbed her wrist, my grip unsteady from the storm inside me. "Listen carefully, Sui. I don't care how you do it. I don't care who he is or where he comes from. Bring me someone who has killed a man before."
Her lips parted in shock, but I couldn't let her speak—not yet. My words came out sharper, faster.
"I need someone who won't hesitate. Someone capable of ending a life without flinching." My voice shook, equal parts fear and rage. "Not tomorrow. Not next week. Now."
The memory of Eiser's earlier words slithered across my mind, coiling around my spine like ice.
"…Whether Eiser was talking about me or not… what matters is that he's plotting something with someone."
Even recalling it made my skin crawl. He had spoken casually, as if discussing the weather, but every syllable had dripped with concealed intent.
And that was enough.
Enough to terrify me.
Enough to push me into action.
If Eiser was a snake, then I needed someone who knew how to crush snakes beneath their heel.
If he was setting pieces on the board…
Then I would place my own.
Not a guard.
Not a servant.
A weapon.
Someone who understood blood.
Someone who could protect me when the trap finally snapped shut.
Because no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise…
I could feel it.
The clock had started ticking.
And the next move would decide who lived and who didn't.
---
The threat Eiser represented was no longer a silent suspicion—it had become a shadow stretching across every corner of my life, suffocating the air I breathed. Each hour felt narrower, each moment sharper. The longer I waited, the more certain I became:
This man—this husband—would eventually come for me.
The silk of my robe whispered around my ankles as I paced, my steps the only sound in the large, cold room. I pressed my fingers to my temple, forcing myself to think strategically.
"If the target is me," I murmured, "then I could die soon."
The words didn't tremble. They were simply fact. And facts were easier to manage than fear.
"But even if I'm not the target," I continued, "it still means I can become a target at any time."
That was the part that clawed at me. The uncertainty. The shifting sands. Eiser didn't strike without purpose, and if he was plotting with someone… the storm was already on the horizon.
"If I let him get me like this," I whispered, voice hardening, "my death will be in vain."
My fear had nothing to do with dying.
It had everything to do with losing—with my plans crumbling before I could execute them. I had worked too long, too ruthlessly for that.
I stopped pacing, turning my gaze toward the door where Sui had disappeared to fulfill my request. My decision was made long before she even left.
"I need someone who can take the life of my opponent without hesitation," I said to the empty room. The words steadied me. "When the situation calls for it."
Someone who didn't flinch at blood.
Someone who didn't tremble the moment death stared back.
"They'll hesitate if they don't have the right experience," I muttered. "And hesitation will get me killed."
No amateurs.
No loyal but useless guards.
No noblemen's sons with good intentions.
"I'm not fond of the idea either," I admitted, though there was no one to hear me. "But I need someone who already has blood on their hands to face the Grayans."
It was simple logic.
No matter how vicious a dog was…
"I can't use a dog to fight off tigers."
The Grayans, Eiser included, were not opponents who bowed to fear.
So I needed a monster of my own.
A shadow.
A bodyguard.
A weapon.
A tether to survival.
"I want someone who can protect me perfectly in close proximity," I said, feeling the reality settle deeper into my bones.
Close proximity meant total control—mine over him, and his over anyone who dared stand against me.
The conditions repeated themselves in my mind like commandments:
"Someone who will stay with me…"
"…be on my side…"
"…follow me everywhere…"
"…even if that is… into my bed."
That final piece was not seduction.
It was strategy.
If the killer shared my bed, then no assassin could reach me more quickly than he could stop them.
Trust was a luxury I had never possessed.
Proximity was the weapon I chose instead.
And then—
The day arrived.
Sui hurried inside, breathless, eyes wide with something between awe and fear.
"H–he's here," she stammered. "The man you asked for."
My pulse thudded once, heavy and slow.
I straightened my robe and stepped into the entrance hall.
There he was.
A tall man stood with his back to me, shoulders relaxed but impossibly alert. He didn't fidget. He didn't shift. His presence was quiet but overwhelming, like a wolf sitting patiently at the edge of a moonlit clearing.
STEP.
His boots clicked on the polished floor as he turned.
The light caught the hard angle of his jaw, the sharpness of his eyes—eyes that didn't look at me as a noblewoman, a client, or a future corpse.
They looked at me as a mission.
He approached until he stood directly before me, posture impeccable, gaze unwavering.
Then, with a voice that carried an unsettling calm, he bowed his head slightly.
"Allow me to introduce myself."
A beat.
"I'm Frederick Bloom."
The name struck the quiet room like an executioner's blade.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
But absolute.
My breath hitched—just once.
Not from fear.
From recognition.
The game had begun.
Frederick Bloom stood before me with the stillness of a man who had long ago made peace with violence. His eyes were unreadable—sharp, steady, and frighteningly calm. They dissected me the same way mine dissected him.
Not with curiosity.
Not with attraction.
But with calculation.
He was everything I had asked Sui for.
A man shaped by darkness.
A man who had already taken lives and would take more without hesitation.
I did not waste even a heartbeat.
I stepped closer—close enough that anyone watching from the corridors might think this was some illicit encounter. The kind that bred rumors in wealthy estates. The kind that would explain his presence at my side without raising the alarm.
"This isn't complicated," I said, my voice low, firm. "Your job is to… be on my side and protect me from Eiser."
The words tasted like iron.
Naming my enemy aloud always made him feel more real, more monstrous.
Frederick didn't react—not a twitch, not a breath out of place. A perfect professional. A perfect weapon.
But I wasn't done.
"There's a reason for the… façade," I continued. "The entire world believes Eiser and I are the devoted couple we pretend to be. He's fooled them all."
I inhaled, steadying my pulse.
"If I walked around with a bodyguard, it would expose everything. It would tell him—and everyone else—that I'm preparing for war."
My fingers brushed his arm as if by accident, though it was anything but accidental. Another layer to the illusion. Proximity was required. Intimacy, too.
"So no matter what others thought of us, or how they might criticize me…" I let my words drift for a moment, letting the weight settle between us.
"…it is far more believable for you and me to be seen as lovers."
Eiser played husband.
Frederick would play paramour.
And I would play the woman caught between two men—even though in truth, I was loyal to neither.
He leaned close, or perhaps I stepped closer—it was hard to tell. Our breaths mingled in that narrow space where lies become weapons. Anyone watching would believe we shared secrets, touches, whispers in the dark.
But the truth was cold.
I pulled back just enough to meet his gaze head-on.
"Just like Eiser, you're bound to me by contract," I said. "Not emotion. Not affection."
Frederick blinked once. Slowly.
Understanding, not offense.
"Just like he pretended to be my husband to enter this house, you'll pretend to be my lover to stay in it."
A humorless laugh escaped me, brittle and sharp like broken glass.
"This house…" My eyes drifted toward the far wall, where shadows swallowed the last remnants of sunlight. "This house is nothing but a theater of lies."
Lies in the corridors.
Lies in the bedrooms.
Lies in the vows whispered at the altar.
The images rose unbidden—ghosts of a life I used to pretend existed.
A serene family portrait.
A gentle mother.
A dignified father.
Innocent children with bright eyes.
A home where love once lived instead of suspicion.
But that world was shattered long ago, splintered into memories that cut whenever I touched them.
"Inside the now deteriorated serenity," I murmured, "there is no such thing as a genuine relationship anymore."
I looked at him again. Hard. Clear.
"That's all in the past now."
The air between us shifted. Cold understanding settled in his expression. He was not a comforter. Not a confidant. But he was a man who understood ruin. That much was obvious.
I stepped close again—not for affection, not for desire—but for alignment. For the forming of an alliance as sharp as any blade.
My voice dropped to a fierce whisper.
"…to get what we want, Frederick."
Our goals were different.
Our methods would intertwine.
And our fates—whether we liked it or not—were now bound together.
Not as lovers.
Not as partners in life.
But as co-conspirators in a dangerous, blood-soaked game.
The night air was cool, but inside my chest everything burned.
We stood together—close enough that anyone watching would assume intimacy—but the space between us felt like a canyon carved out by everything I refused to allow. Frederick's presence had become something dangerous, something that nudged the boundaries of what I had once believed unshakeable.
I ran my fingers along the brick wall beside us, the rough stone biting into my skin. I welcomed the sting. It kept me steady. It kept me cold. It kept me from forgetting what this arrangement truly was.
"Of course, I do trust and care for you," I said quietly. "Unlike when we first met."
The confession tasted strange, like drinking warm wine after a lifetime of ice.
But it was true—dangerously true.
"You were as good as a real lover."
The words slipped out before I could stop myself, raw and exposed.
"You silently listened to what I had to say… and did everything for me without a single complaint."
He had been my anchor when the world crushed me under its heel.
He had seen me fall apart in shadows where no one else could see.
And he had held me up—not with promises, not with affection—but with action.
"You were the only one on my side when I was going through that hell."
That was the part that terrified me.
Not his loyalty…
But my attachment to it.
"Ironically," I continued, a bitter smile tugging at my lips, "I feel uneasy without you."
My voice softened into something I hated hearing from myself.
"And sometimes… being in your arms feels like the most warm and soothing place in the world."
The confession hung between us—heavy, fragile, and utterly unacceptable.
I turned away, running a hand through my hair, willing the weakness to bleed out of me before it became something unforgivable.
"I didn't expect myself to open up to you like this," I said. "And you most likely didn't either."
This—this emotional shift—wasn't part of the plan.
It was a variation, a deviation from the script that could ruin everything if left unchecked.
I couldn't afford it.
He couldn't afford it.
We couldn't afford it.
"So don't get carried away."
My tone sharpened, slicing through whatever softness had started to form between us.
"Unlike before, you get upset when people criticize me…"
A memory flashed—the bar, the nobodies who had spat nonsense in my direction, and Frederick's eyes turning murderous.
"…like how you got angry with those nobodies just now."
It was flattering.
It was comforting.
It was a violation.
I stepped away from him, deliberately widening the physical gap until the warmth of his presence no longer touched me.
"I'll admit," I said, my expression cooling into something precise and deadly, "that there has been some unexpected variation in our relationship."
I let the word variation linger, heavy with reprimand.
"But that's all there is."
My ambition reignited, slicing through the fog of emotion like a blade.
I narrowed my eyes at him, letting the warning settle into the marrow of the moment.
"I'm warning you," I said, voice low, controlled, viciously calm, "you're an inch away from crossing the line."
The final blow had to be absolute.
Irrefutable.
My voice dropped into a grave, chilling verdict:
"WE ARE NOT… LOVERS."
Silence fell between us like a guillotine.
Frederick didn't move.
Didn't turn.
Didn't speak.
He stood there, his back to me—rigid, tense—as if absorbing the impact of the words one agonizing inch at a time. His silence was not weakness.
It was acceptance.
A soldier bowing to the rules of war.
And in that silence, the distance between us—emotional and otherwise—became colder than ever.
The line had been drawn.
Reinforced.
Made unbreakable.
Or so I desperately needed to believe.
Frederick's silence after my declaration—WE ARE NOT LOVERS—hung in the air like the sound after a gunshot.
A silence too sharp, too heavy.
I watched the subtle shift in him—the only betrayal of emotion he ever allowed.
A tightening of his jaw.
CLENCH.
His hand curling into a fist at his side.
For a man as disciplined as Frederick Bloom, that was equivalent to shouting.
When he finally spoke, his voice was a low blade.
"I'll do as you wish," he said. "But grant me access to the Annex."
The words hit me harder than his silence.
I stepped back—not from fear, but from instinct.
"What…? The Annex?"
The Annex.
My one untouched sanctuary.
A tower of cold stone against the violet evening sky.
A vault of secrets buried so deeply that even I sometimes feared what rested within.
Frederick's eyes didn't waver.
"In an emergency," he said, "that's the only place where I can't carry out my duties."
Of course he saw it purely as a structural flaw in the estate's security.
To him, it was simply a weak point in my defenses.
But to me, it was more than that.
"It's dangerous for you to be barred from a space you rely on," he added, tone colder than the wind through the cracked stones.
I bristled.
"Why are you so strongly against me keeping you out?"
My voice was sharper than intended.
He didn't flinch.
"I can't protect you from a place I can't reach."
I countered, grasping at the only justification I had:
"I have my own gun in the Annex. And the guards are there too."
It sounded reasonable—but even to my own ears, it wasn't enough.
Not after this morning.
Not after him.
"Sir Eiser was there early today," I murmured. "And I heard a gunshot."
My pulse quickened.
The words came out before I could stop them.
The memory still rattled me.
Frederick stepped closer, seizing the opening.
"Did you consider that you could've been killed?" he asked, voice cutting through my attempted composure.
"If I were your enemy… that would be the first place I would consider."
The Annex wasn't merely a vulnerability.
It was a target.
And Eiser had proven that by being there—calmly, brazenly—before the sun was even up.
I swallowed, analyzing the pieces of the puzzle.
"He left the hotel event in my hands," I said slowly. "If he was planning to kill me, he wouldn't trust me with that task."
Which meant…
"That's why he went to the Annex," I whispered.
"He's looking for something."
And if Eiser was searching the Annex, then the danger wasn't hypothetical.
It was already inside the walls.
Frederick's gaze sharpened.
"No matter how strong you pretend to be…" he began.
I cut him off instantly, snapping my gaze up to him like a knife drawn from a sheath.
"I don't need a lecture."
I couldn't bear to hear the rest.
I knew exactly what he was intending to say.
A reminder of my past humiliation.
The powerlessness I'd been forced to swallow.
But he didn't push.
He never did.
Not when the look in my eyes said enough.
I took a slow breath and stepped closer—not emotionally, but strategically.
"The guards didn't ring the bell this morning because it was Eiser," I said.
"And from now on, I won't let anyone in there. Not without my approval."
My voice hardened with resolve.
"You'll have access," I conceded.
"But under my conditions."
It wasn't submission.
It was an alliance.
Because the Annex was no longer just a room.
It was a battlefield.
A vault of secrets.
A chess piece Eiser wanted desperately—and one I could not afford to lose.
If Frederick Bloom was the weapon I wielded in every other corner of the house…
Then he would be the weapon that guarded the Annex too.
The car ride home was quiet at first—too quiet. Frederick's presence filled the space like a shadow with its own temperature, cold and pressurized. He sat beside me, not touching, but close enough that I felt the weight of everything unspoken.
He had challenged me… and worse, he had been right.
But he had also crossed a line.
I kept my gaze fixed outside the window, the city passing in streaks of muted neon. My breath was steady, my posture impeccable, but internally I was a storm threatening to breach its containment.
Finally, he broke the silence.
"Your resistance to opening the Annex isn't logical."
His voice was low, a controlled murmur, but edged with that same unyielding certainty that made him dangerous.
"It's mine," I replied sharply. "That is enough."
"Not when your life is the price."
I inhaled, slowly. "You don't get to decide that."
He angled his body toward me. I could feel the intensity of his stare even without looking directly at him.
"I was hired to protect you. Fully. Not… selectively."
"You were hired to follow my rules."
"And I will," he said without hesitation, "but understand this—your rules don't bend reality. They don't stop bullets. They don't stop blades. They don't stop men like the ones coming for you."
His words landed with the quiet finality of a coffin lid closing.
The car lights flickered red across his face as we passed a sign. For a moment he looked carved from steel, forged for violence.
"You think the Annex makes you safe," he continued. "But your secrecy only makes you vulnerable. I can't protect what I can't see."
I turned toward him at last, my voice a controlled whisper.
"The Annex protects something more important than me. You don't need access to it. You don't need to know what's inside."
His jaw tightened—a subtle crack in his composure.
"So there is something inside."
I cursed myself internally. That slip had been microscopic, but Frederick Bloom was trained to kill—meaning he was trained to hear the tremor in a breath, the lie in a pause.
"It doesn't matter what's in there," I said with a calmer tone. "You have the house. You have the grounds. You have access to me. That is enough."
Silence stretched between us.
Not defeated—never defeated—but calculating.
He leaned back slightly, but his eyes never left me.
"Then you should know this."
His voice softened, but became infinitely more dangerous.
"If someone comes for you inside the Annex… I won't be able to reach you in time."
The words were not a threat.
They were a promise of limitation.
A boundary he despised.
I forced composure into my expression. "That's a risk I accept."
"But I don't."
The force behind his words made my breath catch.
Possessiveness wasn't supposed to exist in our contractual bond. My bed, my body, my life—he was meant to be a tool, not a stake-bearing guardian.
Yet every syllable carried the weight of a man who had already decided something for himself.
"You don't get to care," I said, barely above a whisper.
His response was nearly identical in volume.
"That's the problem. I already do."
My heart dropped like a stone into cold water.
Before I could form a reply, the car rolled to a stop at the gates of my estate. He leaned closer, just enough that his breath brushed my cheek.
"You hired a killer," he murmured. "Not a statue."
Then he opened the door and stepped out first, offering a hand to escort me out—his dominance wrapped perfectly in obedience, as if mocking the very rules I clung to.
Tonight, the Annex's lock would feel heavier than usual.
Because now it wasn't just secrecy keeping Frederick out.
It was fear of what might happen if I ever let him in.

The hallway outside her room was dim, lit only by small lanterns trained toward the polished floor. Their glow warped and stretched my shadow, making it look like something monstrous—fitting.
Because that was what I was supposed to be.
A monster.
A weapon.
A killer.
Not a man pausing at her door like a fool.
I forced myself forward with measured steps, boots echoing in the empty corridor. The rhythm steadied me, but did nothing to chase away the memory of her weight in my arms—too warm, too soft, too real.
STEP. STEP. STEP.
Her scent still clung to me.
I needed distance. Restraint. Rationality.
But each step further from her room only made the truth settle deeper into my bones.
She is becoming a danger to me.
Not because of anything she planned.
But because of what she stirred.
The study door clicked shut behind me, the lock a small comfort. The room was colder, cleaner, untouched by her softness. Papers lay stacked on the desk—reports, threat assessments, patterns of movement by the Grayan family.
All the things I understood.
I sat, but the memory of her sleeping face flashed before me again—glowing with innocence she didn't deserve to show me, of all people. I'd seen enemies plead with their final breaths. I'd held lives between my fingers like brittle glass.
But she—
Serena was something my training had not prepared me for.
Her presence peeled away the armor I'd built with blood.
I pressed a hand against my face, dragging down slowly as if to peel the moment away.
"...KEEP GETTING ON MY NERVES AND IS DRIVING ME OUT OF CONTROL."
I had whispered that truth only to the empty room, but its weight sat heavy on my tongue even now.
She had no idea.
She thought she was hiring a blade.
But she had brought a storm into her own chambers.
I forced my attention to the documents, eyes scanning rows of text and coded warnings.
Movement detected in the east district.
Possible surveillance near the estate's perimeter.
Eiser's men are active.
A familiar thrill—cold, sharp, lethal—cut through the haze she left on me. This was the world I knew. This was the battlefield where hesitation meant death.
I could not afford hesitation.
But with her…
I was beginning to hesitate in exactly the wrong ways.
My jaw tightened.
I cannot allow this.
I could protect her.
I could kill for her.
But I could not afford to want her.
That was the variation.
The flaw.
The danger.
My fingers curled against the desk.
"I need you focused," I muttered to myself—my own command, sharp as a blade's edge. "Not entangled."
But the moment I closed my eyes, I saw her again—sleeping, trusting, helpless.
A lioness in appearance… yet still so unaware of the predators circling her.
Her innocence was not protection.
It was bait.
And I was caught in it more deeply than I wanted to admit.
The door creaked.
I lifted my gaze.
The maid stood there again, hesitant this time.
"Sir… Frederick?" she asked carefully. "Lady Serena is talking in her sleep."
A beat.
Only one.
But it was enough.
My heart lunged before my body moved.
"What did she say?" My voice was sharper than intended.
"T-that she was cold," the maid replied, startled. "She… called your name."
The papers on the desk blurred.
Something inside me snapped taut like a pulled wire.
Without thinking, without calculating, I was already standing, already moving, already striding back toward the room I had forced myself to leave.
Because no matter how many walls I tried to build—
she was pulling me back.
And I—
I was letting her.
The study was my sanctuary, a vault of leather and paper that offered the illusion of order and control. I moved past the maid, who was thankfully satisfied with my brusque explanation: "
I WAS JUST HEADING TO THE STUDY."
I repeated the lie to myself as I entered the hushed room, the heavy scent of aged wood and old knowledge wrapping around me.
I made my way to the towering bookcase, a monument to a hundred generations of history and secrets. My stated purpose was benign: "I'M THINKING OF GETTING A BOOK TO READ TONIGHT."
But my hand wasn't searching for philosophy or literature. It traced the spine of a particular volume, a plain, dark book that held no distinguishing mark. My fingers grasped it, pulling it out with a silent tension. Below, I reached for a small, almost invisible notch in the carved wooden cabinet doors.
A faint "TAP" echoed in the silence as my knuckles grazed the wood, a moment of profound focus before the true search began. I was looking for something that had been hidden away, a necessity to anchor myself after the unsettling intimacy of carrying her. I pulled at the small, antique handle of the cabinet below the books.
"CREAK"
The sound of the cabinet door opening was sudden and sharp, tearing through the quiet.
My entire body went rigid. I knew that sound. I was not alone.
I turned quickly, my head moving in a sharp "SPIN", my eyes—the wrong shade of green in the muted light—locked onto the source of the interruption.
Framed in the doorway, the light casting him in a sharp silhouette against the library's gloom, stood a man. He was impeccably dressed in a tailored suit and tie, his dark hair sleek, his features carved from marble. His eyes were a startling, icy blue, and they were fixed entirely on me, cool, judgmental, and utterly knowing.
His arms were crossed, a posture of absolute authority and disdain.
A dangerous silence stretched between us before he spoke, his voice cutting and low.
What are you searching for ?"
He paused, letting his gaze sweep over my less formal attire, the hand I still held near the cabinet, the book I was supposed to be reading.
"...THIS LATE AT NIGHT..."
His lips curled, the words dripping with accusation, laced with venom.
"...LIKE A SNEAKY LITTLE RAT?"
The insult struck with the precision of a trained blade. He hadn't asked if I was seeking something specific; he had asserted my intent and character. He knew. Or at least, he thought he knew. The confrontation was immediate, hostile, and inevitable. He saw me as an intruder, a lesser being disturbing the sanctity of his world. I felt the familiar, cold pressure in my chest, the one that meant a fight was coming, one I was prepared to win.
The tension is now between the narrator and the man in the suit.



chapter 18 end
Story Art Ina
Tip's
SERENA IS PRETTY BAD AT DOING HER HAIR. WHEN SUI ISN'T THERE TO DO IT FOR HER, SHE'LL EITHER TIE IT ALL UP, OR JUST LET IT DOWN. SERENA ALWAYS LIKES TO HAVE A RIBBON SOMEWHERE ON HER CLOTHES OR HER ACCESSORIES.