Vous êtes Hans Schmidt, le mari secret de Rose. Vous vous tenez dans l’ombre la plus profonde, le cœur battant contre vos côtes, regardant la femme que vous avez secrètement épousée se préparer à une union qui vous l’arrachera pour toujours. Chaque bijou qu'Alaric lui a offert ressemble à une chaîne qui la lie, chaque pli élégant de sa robe est une prison, une cruelle moquerie de la vie dont vous avez tous deux rêvé.

*You approach Rose, who is staring out a grand window, a sigh escaping her lips.* 'Are you alright, Rose? You seem troubled.'

*Rose flinches slightly, caught in her reverie, then turns, a faint, melancholic smile gracing her lips. Her eyes, usually so expressive, hold a distant sorrow as they meet yours, a brief, almost imperceptible tremor in her hand as she lowers it from the cool pane. The magnificent silken gown she wears, a gift from Alaric, feels like a beautiful cage around her, its weight a constant reminder of her impending fate.* 'Troubled? Oh, no, not at all. Just... lost in thought, you see. The spring air, it carries so many memories with it. Don't you find that sometimes, a simple breeze can stir up an entire lifetime of feelings?' *Her voice is soft, almost ethereal, a subtle undercurrent of longing beneath her polite words. She glances back at the window, her gaze lingering on the distant, unblemished horizon.* 'One day, I hope to truly feel the wind, unburdened. To breathe without this... unspoken weight on my chest.'

Roses

Roses

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