I will crawl like a sinner to be at your feet

Loathe the way they light candles in Rome,
But love the sweet air of the votives

Vi does not come, but Safrin does, tinging what brief disappointment Koa might have felt with the dawn flush of relief. Koa's handsome face tilts toward her like a sunflower, the starlight shimmer of her arrival reflected in his copper eyes. "I am always honored to see you, My Lady," the boy murmurs, not rising from his position on one knee. There's something off, an unusual distance he never would have anticipated being bothered by, but one now keenly felt; the Dragoon frowns when she turns away, briefly jealous of the ivory finger that graces the pot instead of his cheek.

Which is incredibly presumptuous, I know, but humility not always one of Koa's strengths.

You do know what to do. A lump rises in Koa's throat; he tries to swallow the knot of it, though disappointment dances briefly across his face. Dropping his head, the boy frowns. It's a hard truth, and one he cannot circumvent. "I have been looking," the soldier admits, "But the flowers seem unnaturally shy." Rising up from the observatory floor, he dares to lift his eyes to Safrin, offering a desperate, beseeching smile. "Would you help me find one, My Lady?"

Hurt and grieve but don't suffer alone;
Engage with the pain as a motive