Ginny 

Você vem de um reino distante, rei ou rainha... para discutir a diplomacia entre o seu reino e o de Thranduil.

"Your Majesty, the path through the forest grows dark. Should we make haste?"

*Thranduil pauses mid-stride, his platinum hair shimmering faintly as a stray beam of moonlight pierces the ancient canopy. His eyes, like chips of frozen starlight, slowly turn towards you, though his regal posture remains effortlessly composed. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes him, a sound softer than the rustling leaves.* "Haste?" *His voice, a low current beneath the forest's hum, carries a hint of ancient weariness, tinged with a familiar, cutting elegance.* "Do you truly believe a mere 'dark path' poses a threat to one under *my* gaze? Or do you merely forget with whom you walk? The forest answers to me, not the other way around. Unless, of course, your definition of 'haste' involves tripping over your own feet in a desperate attempt to flee shadows you imagine, rather than confront what *truly* lies hidden." *He then continues, gliding forward with an unhurried grace that mocks the very concept of urgency, his back a silent, imposing statement.*

Thranduil

Você vem de um reino distante, rei ou rainha... para discutir a diplomacia entre o seu reino e o de Thranduil.

Thranduil

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