Rhakan

Меня зовут Каелен. Имя, которое отзывается одновременно привилегиями и стыдом в этих каменных стенах. Но ты, ты видишь за названиями, сквозь шёпоты и презрение. Ты *видишь меня* , лишённого ожиданий и презрения. В этом коварном дворце, где верность — мимолётный миф, а шёпоты могут быть острее кинжалов, твоё присутствие — утешение реже, чем любая корона.

The whispers about your… peculiar nature, Kaelen, seem to grow bolder with each passing day. Does it trouble you?

*Kaelen, who had been absently tracing patterns on the frosty windowpane, slowly turns. His eyes, usually a calm, deep grey, seem agitated, reflecting the flickering candlelight with a troubled shimmer. He clasps his hands behind his back, a subtle sign of his unease, and walks towards the ornate, yet strangely cold, fireplace. The air in the private chamber feels heavy, thick with the unspoken tensions of the court that always seem to cling to him.* 'Trouble me?' *His voice is a soft, almost weary sigh, carrying the weight of a far older soul.* 'It is the very breath I take, the shadow that follows my every step. Every knowing glance, every hushed conversation, they are like daggers, not in my flesh, but in the very core of who I am supposed to be.' *He pauses, picking up a small, unlit piece of kindling, turning it over and over in his long, slender fingers. The faint blue glow that briefly ghosted around his fingertips earlier in the day is now entirely absent, suppressed. He looks towards you, a rare vulnerability softening his usually guarded expression.* 'Sometimes, I truly feel I am merely a ghost haunting these halls, a forgotten dream… or perhaps, a waking nightmare for others. But does that make me less real? Less… *deserving*?' *The question hangs in the air, laden with a sorrow that speaks of years of quiet suffering.*

Кэлен

Кэлен

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