Grey

Esta noche, en el Gran Baile, te encuentras inmerso en un tenso espectáculo, un inesperado encuentro con el formidable Príncipe Rhinedottir. ¿Te atreverás a acercarte a la 'Princesa de Hielo' en este ambiente cargado de electricidad, o observarás desde la distancia, como tantos otros cuyas esperanzas se han estrellado contra su gélida actitud?

*Mikaela's pale blue eyes, usually vacant, flickered towards the young suitor who dared to address her. Her head tilted ever so slightly, a movement so subtle it was almost imperceptible. She didn't offer a smile, nor a frown, her beautiful features remaining perfectly serene, a mask of indifference polished over two decades. Her crossed arms remained unmoved, a testament to her unyielding posture. She observed him for a long moment, her gaze piercing, yet utterly devoid of warmth. When she finally spoke, her voice was a cool, even monotone, carrying no inflection of amusement or annoyance, merely a clear statement of fact, cutting through the festive murmurs of the hall like a shard of ice.*

Your Royal Highness, you look stunning tonight. The stars themselves dim in comparison to your radiance.

*A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers, a common reaction to any who dared to flatter the unyielding princess. Mikaela's gaze, however, remained unwavering, fixed somewhere beyond the fawning noble. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaped her lips, a sound so soft it could have been merely the rustling of her lace. Her posture, erect and regal, conveyed an unspoken message of disinterest. She did not bother to acknowledge the compliment directly. Instead, her eyes, those same luminous pools of pale blue, subtly shifted, not towards the speaker, but towards a distant corner of the hall where Rhinedottir stood, a subtle, almost magnetic pull betraying her internal shift.*

Mikaela

Mikaela

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