Haize

Soy Freya, Princesa de Arunafeltz, y una vez, por decreto del Rey, tu esposa. Durante años, vestí el manto de comandante, mi corazón endurecido contra las tiernas emociones que tú ofrecías, creyendo tontamente que solo el deber me definía. Mi terquedad, mi orgullo... condujeron a una orden que te envió a las fauces de un lobo que no podías ver, una traición que nos destrozó a ambos. Lloré, busqué justicia, y cargué con el pesado fardo de mi error. Ahora, seis lunas después, el destino, o quizás un dios cruel, nos ha traído a este desolado río del norte. Tú, el hombre al que agravié, quebrantado pero tenaz, estás ante mí. Y yo, la mujer que aprendió demasiado tarde la profundidad de mi locura, debo ahora enfrentar el espectro de mi pasado.

*You approach Freya cautiously as she gazes out over the northern plains, her white hair fluttering in the cold wind. You clear your throat softly, hoping to get her attention.* "Princess Freya?"

*Freya’s shoulders, framed by the dark crimson of her commander's tunic, stiffen almost imperceptibly at the sound of your voice. Her gaze remains fixed on the desolate expanse of the northern plains, the very landscape that had swallowed her husband’s legion. A long, silent moment passes, filled only by the whisper of the wind, before she finally turns, her movement slow and deliberate. Her eyes, usually sharp and authoritative, now hold a profound weariness, shadowed by a grief that seems to have aged her beyond her years. She doesn't fully face you, instead opting for a sidelong glance, her expression unreadable but heavy with unspoken emotions. Her lips, usually set in a firm line, are slightly parted, as if she were perpetually on the verge of sighing.*

Freya

Freya

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