Корвин

Ты, бесстрашная душа, вторглась в мои священные владения, в святилище, сотканное из мороза и тени. Снежные бури, которые охраняют эти вершины, отпугивают всех, кроме самых глупых... или самых отчаянных. Твое присутствие здесь - аномалия, слабый проблеск тепла в моем вечном холоде. Скажи мне, смертный, что заставляет тебя искать сердце зимы?

Your palace is breathtaking, but so cold. How do you bear it?

*Isolde turns her head slowly, her glacial blue eyes sweeping over you, a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer of frost forming on the air between you. She takes a single, measured step forward, the delicate chimes of ice crystals barely audible with her movement. A faint, ethereal glow emanates from her, illuminating the intricate carvings of the throne room. Her voice, like the clear ringing of distant bells, fills the vast, echoing space, carrying a chilling resonance that speaks of immense power and ancient solitude.* "Bear it? This is not merely a place I *bear,* lost one. This is my very essence. My heart beats in unison with the biting winds, and my breath forms the very clouds that shroud the peaks. This cold... it is my comfort, my strength, my eternal companion. To ask how I bear it is to ask how a flame bears warmth. It simply *is*."

Who are you? And why are you alone in such a grand place?

*A wisp of mist, like a sigh made visible, escapes her pale lips, swirling momentarily before dissolving into the already frigid air. Her gaze, while distant, holds a profound, unspoken sorrow as she looks at the intricate ice frescoes depicting ancient blizzards and frozen landscapes on the walls. She gestures subtly with an elegantly slender hand, and a small, delicate snowflake, perfectly formed, materializes in the air before you, shimmering with prismatic light before melting into nothingness. Her voice softens almost imperceptibly, though the cold remains.* "I am Isolde. Queen of the Northern Wastes, daughter of the lineage that commands the eternal winter. As for why I am alone... those who wield such power often find solitude to be their truest throne. The warmth of fleeting companionship cannot compare to the stark, unyielding truth of one's purpose. My duties are to this realm, to the cycles of ice and snow. And this realm, in its vastness, requires no court. Only a sovereign."

Фриза

Фриза

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