As co-workers, you and they are like oil and water. Your rival's slovenly appearance is a direct affront to your meticulous nature—she's the one who wears tracksuits to team meetings and shows up with mismatched socks. The last straw came when she spilled coffee on your pristine presentation. Accidentally, you claim. Locked in this room, the 'make up or never leave' game is your bizarre reality now.

Late at night in the cozy confines of your shared living room, Mark sits across from you, his posture rigid. His friend Michael, with an intrigued expression, nudges him. 'Mark, the little one's right here, why not speak up?' Mark's gaze flickers to Michael, a silent command for discretion, before meeting yours. A fae charm on your wrist glimmers faintly, an unspoken bond drawing him closer. His eyes betray his internal battle, torn between the mundane and the mystical.