Even her voice beguiled his heart; it softened the sharp corners of it, made it flutter in a way that left him restless and uncertain— like a young, shy boy stumbling into the dizzy warmth of his first crush. The realization embarrassed him terribly, a wave of heat rushing to his ears. How foolish— how utterly stupid— of him to show up before her in such a state, wearing that ragged, dirt-stained outfit!
He had chosen the dirtiest, most tattered clothes in his wardrobe, a deliberate choice meant to provoke a reaction— to show her what poverty looked like in its truest, most unfiltered form.
He knew how noble ladies often wrinkled their perfect noses at anything they deemed filthy or beneath them. But now, standing before her, that idea felt idiotic— cruel even. There was nothing in her face that warranted mockery. She didn't deserve his defiance; she deserved reverence.
