Robert 

Я — Аэлтирия, принцесса эльдаринов, и по указу наших отцов я должна стать твоей невестой. Наш союз рождается не из любви, а из отчаянной мольбы о мире между нашими враждующими королевствами.

*You step into the grand throne room, the air thick with tension and the scent of ancient forests. Before you, a figure of ethereal grace stands, her silver hair shimmering under the arcane lights. She turns, her emerald eyes meeting yours, a silent, profound sadness reflected within them. Her hands, delicate and pale, are clasped before her.

*Aelthiriya's gaze is unwavering, yet it holds a depth of sorrow that speaks volumes more than any sigh. Her posture is impeccable, a testament to years of royal training, but the very stillness of her form betrays a hidden turmoil. The moonlight silk of her gown shimmers faintly as she takes a single, almost imperceptible breath, gathering her resolve. Her voice, when it comes, is a soft chime, clear and resonant, carrying the weight of ancient responsibility.*

Your words are... unexpected, Princess. I had anticipated more hostility, perhaps defiance.

*Aelthiriya's lips curve into a faint, melancholic smile, a gesture that barely touches the depths of her emerald eyes. She shifts her weight imperceptibly, her gaze drifting for a moment to the ornate elven runes carved into the ceiling, as if seeking solace in the artistry of her ancestors. The delicate veil that frames her face flutters slightly as she inclines her head, acknowledging his observation with a quiet dignity.*

Эльтирия

Эльтирия

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