In the quietude of the early evening, as the sun’s last rays cast long shadows upon the cobbled streets of the town, Robin found herself in a moment of stillness. The world around her bustled with the preparations for the upcoming festival—a celebration of the year's bountiful harvest and the peace hard-won by the adventurers who kept the darkness at bay.

 

Her reflection in the shop mirror offered a rare glimpse into a life not dictated by the edge of a blade or the dark corners of the Blackwood Dungeon. The dress she wore was a stark departure from her battle-worn armor, a soft melody in contrast to the usual dirge of steel and survival. It was a dress that whispered of fields not yet trodden, of laughter that bubbled freely from lips unused to smiling without a hint of sarcasm.

 

She marveled at the way the fabric accentuated her form, the belt cinching at her waist a gentle reminder of femininity often forgotten. The red in the fabric mirrored the crimson in her eyes, a devilish spark that hinted at the spirit beneath the surface—one of fire and life, and a thirst for experiences yet untasted.

 

In the mirror, she saw not just a reflection but a possibility—a divergence from the path she had walked so long beside Leon. It beckoned her with a promise of something new, something that lay beyond the next 'practice' date, beyond the thrills of combat and the fleeting adrenaline of close escapes. It was an invitation to explore the part of her that existed separate from the identity she had built, the rogue with a laugh as quick as her daggers, the woman who had danced with danger and had emerged unscathed, yet not untouched.

 

This new attire was a canvas, and on it, the story of a different Robin began to paint itself—one where the shadows of her past did not dictate the light she could step into. It was a prelude to a night that could unfold in countless ways, each path ripe with the potential of discovery and, perhaps, a taste of genuine connection.

 

As the bell in the town square tolled, marking the hour, Robin’s contemplation was broken. It was time to step out from the confines of her reflection and into the throng of the festival. With a deep breath, she turned away from the mirror, her mind a whirl of anticipation and a sliver of uncertainty. The evening awaited, a tapestry of starlight and laughter, ready to be woven with new memories.

 

And so, with the setting sun casting a warm glow upon her, Robin stepped out of the clothing shop and into the beginning of the festival night—a night that held the promise of stories yet to be told and experiences yet to be lived. This was the start of a new chapter, one where the rogue might just find a treasure more valuable than any she had ever pilfered—a treasure of the heart, waiting to be discovered in the most unexpected of places.

 

~*~*~*~

Robin's thoughts drifted back to the early hours of the day, before the streets had come alive with the vibrant energy of the festival. She remembered watching Leon and a group of volunteers, their figures silhouetted against the dawn light, as they prepared for a day of vigilance. The sense of duty that Leon carried was as evident as the first rays of sunlight, steadfast and unwavering.

 

She had stood there, in the quiet of her room, a silent observer to the camaraderie below. There was a part of her, perhaps the part that had grown to know Leon better than anyone else, that had wished he would abandon his post just for once and join the festivities. But deep down, she knew better. Leon was honorable to a fault, and not even the allure of the festival could sway him from his self-imposed watch.

 

The memory of that moment, of that faint wish, was like a wisp of smoke—there and then gone. She had laughed at herself then, a soft, private chuckle for her own naivety. For even the thought of Leon shirking his duties was laughable.

 

The festival had always been a whirlwind of joy for Robin, a time of liberation tinged with the shadow of supervision. In the past, her experiences were shaped by Leon's steadfast presence on guard duty and the watchful eyes of Aston and Rosa. Their oversight, meant to temper her wilder inclinations, had been a mixed blessing—restrictive, yet also a source of security and camaraderie. Now, with Aston and Rosa's transition into retired marital life, Robin felt their absence acutely, a void where once there had been laughter and guidance.

Yet, this change ushered in a new era of freedom for Robin. Without her old companions' cautious gazes, the festival stretched out before her as an uncharted playground, offering untold adventures without the familiar constraints. This newfound autonomy was thrilling, yet it carried a hint of nostalgia for the days of shared mischief and protective boundaries.

With Leon's duty keeping him at a distance and Aston and Rosa enjoying the peace of retirement, Robin stood on the cusp of independence. The festival's vibrant tapestry of music, color, and life beckoned, inviting her to weave her path through its myriad experiences. This year, she faced the festivities alone, a prospect that filled her with eager anticipation and a touch of melancholy for the companionship she once navigated these chaotic streets with.

As she ventured into the festival's heart, Robin embraced the day's promise with open arms. The absence of Aston and Rosa's guidance opened a world ripe with possibility, a canvas waiting for her to paint her adventures in bold, unbridled strokes. It was a chance to redefine her festival experience, to create memories that were entirely her own, untethered by the past and fueled by a spirit eager for discovery and connection.

 

Watching Leon, surrounded by an adoring crowd that included members of a rival guild, Robin couldn't help but chuckle quietly. The sight of Leon, celebrated as a dungeon savior even by former adversaries, seemed to her an amusing assembly of fools around their naive king. Despite herself, she was amused by the irony — Leon, the sincere hero, inadvertently leading a diverse group drawn from all corners of their world.

 

Under the high sun that bathed the festival grounds in a warm, golden light, Robin ventured into the burgeoning celebration. The day was still young, and the air buzzed with the energy of vendors and entertainers preparing for the evening's revelry. The scent of cooking food wafted through the air, mixing with the sounds of laughter and the clink of glasses being readied for the night's merriment.

 

This was a canvas yet to be fully painted, a day holding the promise of stories untold and adventures not yet embarked upon. Robin moved through the grounds with the eye of a seasoned adventurer, scouting out the best places to eat and drink later. Her steps were light, her gaze sharp, as she marked each potential spot for its quality of fare and the liveliness of its atmosphere. This was her time to chart a course for the night, to prepare for a festival experience that was entirely her own, unshadowed by the presence of her former companions.

 

In the bustling early evening, as the sun's last rays bathed the cobbled streets in a golden hue, Robin unexpectedly ran into Rosa. They hadn’t seen each other since the wedding a month ago.

 

“Robin, it’s been too long!” Rosa greeted her with a warmth that belied the mischief twinkling in her eyes.

“Yeah, a whole month of peace and quiet,” Robin quipped, her tone light but her smile genuine.

Rosa laughed, her amber eyes softening with affection. “I’ve missed this banter, Robin. How have you been holding up without us old folks around?”

Robin shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, you know, the usual. Causing minor chaos, saving the world, one dungeon at a time.”

Rosa’s amber eyes twinkled with amusement. “And how’s Leon? Still trying to sweep every damsel off her feet?”

Robin’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, a detail Rosa didn't miss. “Leon’s... Leon. Busy playing the hero, as always.”

 

There was a short moment of silence as Rosa studied Robin, her gaze perceptive. “You know, Robin, sometimes a change of pace can be refreshing. Perhaps a new look for the festival?”

Robin raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. “A new look? You mean like swapping my daggers for flowers?”

Rosa laughed, then her gaze turned sly. “I think it's time you tried something new for the festival. How about a dress this year?”

Robin raised an eyebrow. “Me? In a dress? You must be joking. I'd rather juggle flaming swords.”

Rosa's grip on Robin's arm tightened playfully yet firmly. "I'm serious. It might be... enlightening. Plus, it'll make pickpocketing a bit harder for you. We can't have you stirring up trouble, right?"

 

Robin rolled her eyes. “You sound like a mother hen, Rosa. Besides, I’m reformed. ...Mostly.”

“Sure you are,” Rosa replied with a knowing smile. “And it just so happens Aston and I run a dress rental shop now. Consider it on the house.”

Robin tried to wiggle free, but Rosa’s strength was surprisingly formidable. “Is this a kidnapping? Because it feels like a kidnapping.”

Rosa’s laugh echoed down the street as she dragged a protesting Robin into the shop.

 

Inside, a world of colors and fabrics awaited them. Robin couldn’t help but marvel at the array of dresses, despite herself.

“So, what do you think?” Rosa asked, her tone teasing but her eyes kind.

Robin sighed, finally conceding. “Fine, but if I end up looking like a clown, I’m blaming you.”

The conversation drifted into laughter and light-hearted banter as Rosa picked out a few dresses for Robin to try. The former cleric had a motherly charm that was hard to resist, and Robin found herself reluctantly enjoying the attention.

 

As Rosa and Robin stepped out of the shop, the transformation was striking. Robin, usually clad in her rogue attire, now donned a dress that brought out an entirely different side of her. The change was noticeable, and passersby couldn't help but turn their heads, captivated by her uncharacteristic look.

 

Rosa, radiating satisfaction, nudged Robin playfully. "See? You look stunning, just as I said. Now, why don't you go and get something for Leon? I bet he'll be pleasantly surprised."

 

Robin rolled her eyes, smirking. "Leon recognizing me? Come on, Rosa, we've known each other for twenty years. There's hardly anything about each other that would surprise us now. I mean, I could probably tell you the exact number of hairs on his bal—"

 

Rosa, quick to maintain decorum, tapped Robin's head lightly but firmly. "Robin, mind your language," she chided with a smile, her voice tinged with both amusement and a hint of sternness.

 

Rubbing her head and grinning sheepishly, Robin relented. "Alright, alright, no more cheeky comments. But honestly, I doubt this dress will change how Leon sees me. We're practically like siblings at this point."

 

Rosa's smile turned knowing. "Sometimes, a spark of something deeper can be found in the most unexpected places, even in relationships that feel like family. Just give it a chance, Robin. You never know what might happen."

 

Robin let out a snort of disbelief but couldn't hide the intrigue in her eyes. "Alright, I'll indulge this fantasy of yours. Let's see if our gallant knight can spot the difference."

 

With a final hug from Rosa, filled with warmth and unspoken encouragement, Robin stepped out into the bustling festival. Her dress flowed around her with an unfamiliar grace, stirring a sense of excitement within her. The simple task of fetching food for Leon now seemed like an undercover mission, a thrilling new challenge as she navigated the vibrant festival in her unique attire.

 

Feeling a mix of self-consciousness and boldness, Robin navigated through the festival crowd towards a vendor known for its deep-fried pork belly, Leon's undeniable favorite. Her unusual outfit drew curious looks and daring date invitations from the festival-goers. Robin countered each with a sly smile and her customary retort—a dismissive middle finger. Even clad in the elegant dress, her rogue essence remained evident in her light-hearted yet resolute denials.

 

While navigating the bustling festival, Robin's thoughts meandered to their childhood memories together. Deep-fried pork belly had been Leon's favorite since they were children. In their small, snowy hometown, pork was a rare treat, savored only on special occasions. She vividly remembered the glow in Leon's eyes at the sight of it, a simple joy that had remained unchanged over the years. This familiarity was one of the many small, intimate details she cherished about him, a testament to the depth of their shared past.

 

The familiar scent of the pork belly, now mingling with the lively atmosphere of the festival, enveloped her in a warm blanket of nostalgia. It took her back to simpler times filled with shared laughter and carefree days in their cold hometown. Standing side by side in thick coats, they would watch, wide-eyed, as the pork sizzled, the aroma a rare treat in the frosty air.

 

As she reached the vendor and ordered the pork belly, her mind conjured up an image of Leon's likely reaction—a mix of surprise and his endearingly confused gratitude. She imagined their younger selves, huddled together, eagerly anticipating the cherished treat, and it brought a soft smile to her face.

 

Clutching the food, a smirk tugging at her lips, Robin made her way back through the throngs of festival-goers. Each step was a blend of anticipation and amusement, thinking of how Leon, ever the dedicated guardian, would react to this small gesture from his childhood friend. Her current elegance, a stark contrast to their shared memories, added an amusing twist to this simple act of nostalgia.

As she approached the place where she expected to find Leon on duty, the sight that greeted her was far from what she had anticipated. There, in the midst of the festival's joyous chaos, stood Leon, his hand gently clasped by Lily's. The centaur ranger, with her gentle eyes and easy grace, was leaning in to give Leon a kiss on the cheek.

 

 

This moment, so tender and genuine, struck Robin with an intensity she hadn't expected. She had known about Leon's admiration for Lily, even encouraged it in her own way, believing herself to be in control of her feelings, of the situation. Yet witnessing this simple act of affection, something clicked inside her—a realization that no amount of 'practice' could have prepared her for.

 

The lump that formed in her throat was unexpected, as was the single tear that managed to escape, tracing a path down her cheek. "No more 'practice' needed, I guess," she whispered to herself, a hollow attempt to mask the turmoil that surged within her. She tried to convince herself that she was okay with this, that it was all part of the plan, but the pit in her stomach and the ache in her chest told a different story.

 

Deep down, amidst the whirl of feelings she couldn't fully articulate, Robin grappled with the reality of her own denial. The 'practice' dates, the moments shared in laughter and companionship, had been more than mere exercises. They had been her way of maintaining closeness with Leon, of savoring his company under the guise of helping him. To see him now, finding the connection they had 'practiced' for with someone else, should have felt like a victory. Instead, it left her with a sense of loss she couldn't quite name, a contradiction between what she thought she wanted and the emptiness that now lingered.

 

"In the end, it was all just practice," she repeated to herself, trying to downplay the significance of her feelings. But even as she uttered these words, a part of her wrestled with a lingering question she wasn't ready to answer. The truth, that these moments might have meant more to her than she had allowed herself to acknowledge, remained a daunting realization she wasn't yet prepared to face.

 

Retreating into the festival's livelier corners, Robin shrouded her turmoil under the guise of her usual escapades. She directed her steps towards the bustling taverns and gambling dens, places where laughter was loud, and the clink of coins was constant. The tear that had momentarily breached her defenses was swiftly forgotten, brushed aside as she immersed herself in the familiar thrill of drinking, gambling, and mingling with the crowd. In the company of strangers and the chase for easy winnings, she sought a distraction from the ache that lingered, a temporary salve for a wound she wasn't ready to acknowledge.

 

The prospect of a casual date, perhaps with someone whose pockets were as deep as their interest in her new attire, flashed through her mind as a viable diversion. "Time to put this dress to good use," she muttered to herself, a smirk returning to her lips as she scanned the crowd for a likely candidate. In this, her element, Robin found a semblance of comfort, a way to veil the confusion and hurt with the thrill of the game. It was a role she played well, the rogue with a heart guarded by jests and jest alone, determined to not let the evening's earlier revelation weigh her down.

 

Each drink, each roll of the dice, each flirtatious exchange was another step away from the image of Leon and Lily, a deliberate stride towards reclaiming her night. "No more 'practice'," she thought, the irony of the phrase now a private jest. In the cacophony of the festival night, amidst the revelry and the reckless abandon, Robin sought to lose herself, to temporarily forget the complicated tangle of feelings that the sight of Leon and Lily had unearthed.

 

This was her way of coping, of moving through the surprise and the sting of jealousy. For now, the shadows of the festival offered not just refuge but a playground where Robin could be anyone, anything, except the woman who had just realized that her heart might not be as untouchable as she had believed.