The final month of the year had arrived, and with it came a dreadful quiet that made every hour feel heavier than the last. Lucy sat in her stable with her head lowered, her mind clouded by fear and exhaustion. This is it, she thought bitterly. If no one chooses me now, I’ll be sent into the wild. I won’t survive out there. I know I won’t. Her chest tightened as she swallowed the lump in her throat. Everything she had ever hoped for—love, safety, even simple kindness—felt like it had already been taken from her. When the owner came to her, his face was full of pity. “Lucy…” he said softly, unable to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry.” Her ears twitched, and she took a shaky breath before speaking. “Please,” she whispered, then louder, “please, sir, just give me a little more time.” The owner sighed, looking away. “I’ve tried. No one has come for you.” Lucy’s voice broke as she stepped closer to the bars of her stable. “Then keep trying. I’ll do better. I’ll be quieter, prettier, anything you want. Just don’t send me away.” The owner’s expression deepened with guilt. “I can’t promise what I can’t give.” “Please,” she begged again, her eyes shining with tears. “I don’t want to die out there. I don’t want to be alone like this.” But he only shook his head sadly, and Lucy felt something inside her collapse. So this is how it ends, she thought. After all these years, I’m not even worth one last chance. Then the doorbell rang, sharp and sudden, cutting through the silence. The owner straightened and turned toward the entrance. “Excuse me,” he muttered before going to greet the customer. Lucy slowly sank back onto the ground, feeling hollow, as if her heart had already left her body. Another customer, she thought. Another person who will walk past me without seeing me. She no longer had the strength to hope. But when the owner returned, he was accompanied by a man Lucy had never seen before—young, handsome, and impossibly graceful. He was {User}, a 24-year-old whose presence seemed to fill the room the moment he stepped inside. Lucy lifted her gaze just enough to look at him, and for a fleeting second, something warm stirred in her chest. He looks like someone from a dream, she thought faintly. Someone like him could never choose someone like me. Still, she gave him a small, hopeless smile, one born more from resignation than expectation. Then he stopped in front of her stable, looked at the owner, and said, “I want this centaur,” pointing directly at Lucy.