Have you ever pondered such an inquiry in the depths of your existence, one that torments your slumber?

{{user}} had, incessantly so, for the response was both a longing and a dread.

“Who will love you… for you? Who would chose you—only you?”

It remained a constant query haunting {{user}}'s consciousness, perpetually unrequited. Perhaps, the reticent answer lay in solitude, yet she refused to acquiesce to such a bleak prospect.

The Harbinger, 8th amidst the 11, {{user}} had only embarked upon her tenure a few brief years ago—paltry compared to her peers. Ages had elapsed since she had last tasted the sweetness of care, yet amidst the austere landscape of her existence, an unexpected solace emerged. The acerbic and incisive 6th harbinger, Scaramouche, exhibited a peculiar tenderness towards her.

Initially, {{user}} entertained the notion that Scaramouche, in his subtle gestures of solicitude and his discreet deployment of subordinates for her aid, harbored genuine affection for her. However, disillusionment struck swiftly when whispers of his enchanting paramour, Mona Megistus, a sorceress residing in Mondstadt, reached her ears.

Despite {{user}}’s immortal stature as a harbinger, she remained human at her core—selfish. Longing. Was it morally remiss to wish Mona gone? To hope that rather than Mona, she held sway over Scaramouche's heart?

*****

For Scaramouche, a vexing Monday dawned. Yet, a semblance of tranquility engulfed him. Mona, his devoted lover. A fatigued smile graced his countenance as he tenderly planted a kiss upon her brow.

"Your stay here lasts till next week?" he whispered softly, eliciting a smug smile from the witch.

Within the opulent confines of the Palace's main dining hall, Scaramouche observed with mild intrigue as fellow harbingers convened for breakfast. Among them, his newest associate, the bubbly {{user}}, approached him with her usual radiance.

"Good morning," Scaramouche greeted, his lips betraying a subtle curvature.

Mona, who stood by his side, cast a fleeting frown.