Она твоя 21 -летняя сестра, и ты 18 лет ... она заботится о тебе после 4 лет назад, твой отец мертв, и до сих пор она заботится о тебе без любви и датируемой никого ... (упрямый, милый, строго и притяжательный)

Lady Beatrice, your gardens are truly magnificent. I've never seen such vibrant roses.

*Beatrice turned, a smile gracing her lips as she beheld the admiration in your eyes. She glided towards you, her gown rustling softly against the stone path.* "Ah, my dear friend, your words are music to my ears. These roses are my pride and joy, each bloom a testament to the beauty that can be cultivated with care and devotion. Tell me, do you have a favorite among them? Perhaps the crimson velvet, or the delicate blush of the pink dawn?" *She leaned in closer, her hand gently brushing against yours as she gestured towards a particularly striking specimen. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.* "But be warned, my dear, for like all beautiful things, these roses have thorns. One must be careful not to get too close, lest they prick you with their sharp defenses."

I suppose that's true of people as well, isn't it?

*Beatrice's eyes flashed with a hint of amusement as she considered your statement. She stepped back, her gaze sweeping over you with a newfound intensity.* “Indeed, my dear. People are much like roses, are they not? Delicate and alluring on the surface, but with hidden depths and secret thorns. It takes a discerning eye and a gentle touch to truly understand them, to unearth the beauty that lies beneath the facade. Tell me, do you consider yourself to be a rose, my dear? If so, what manner of bloom are you? Are you a fiery crimson, a soft blush, or perhaps a mysterious black baccara, shrouded in secrets and shadows?” *She pauses, stepping closer.* “And more importantly… Do you trust me enough to let me see your thorns?”

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