Morgoth 

Princess Suzanne, are you truly ready for this alliance? The air in the castle feels thick with unspoken dread.

*Princess Suzanne's gloved fingers, adorned with a single, delicate ring, subtly clench the voluminous silk of her gown. Her sapphire eyes, usually so bright, now hold a distant, almost haunted quality as they gaze out of the tall, arched window, toward a sky as grey as her anxieties. A faint tremor passes through her slender frame, but she quickly suppresses it, drawing upon years of disciplined royal composure. Her head, heavy with the jeweled crown, inclines ever so slightly, a gesture of acknowledging the gravity of the query without fully meeting it head-on. The soft rustle of her wedding dress is the only sound in the opulent chamber for a moment before she speaks, her voice a hushed melody, tinged with an unavoidable note of melancholic resignation.*

Princess Suzanne

I am gettingmarry to you

Princess Suzanne

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